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THE WORKS 



ALFRED LORD TENNYSON 






9V 



Copyright, 

By Thomas Y. Crowell & Co. 

1891. 



Photogravures by A. VV. Elson & Co., Boston. 



T. Y. Crowell & Co., Bookbinders, Boston. 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

[dylls of the King: 

Dedication i 

The Coming of Arthur 4 

The Round Table: 

Gareth and Lynette 25 

Geraint and Enid 82 

Merlin and Vivien 146 

1^ Lancelot and Elaine 181 

V 



The Holy Graii 231 



Pelleas and Ettarre 264 

yTHE Last Tournament 2S7 

, Guinevere 3^5 

The Passing of Arthur 340 

To the Queen 35^ 



IDYLLS OF THE KING. 



DEDICATION. 

These to His Memory — since he held them dear, 
Perchance as finding there unconsciously 
Some image of himself — I dedicate, 
I dedicate, I consecrate with tears — 
These Idylls. 

And indeed He seems to me 
Scarce other than my king's ideal knight, 
♦'Who reverenced his conscience as his king; 
Whose glory was, redressing human wrong ; 
Who spake no slander, no, nor listened to it ; 
Who loved one only and who clave to her — " 
Her — over all whose realms to their last isle, 
Commingled with the gloom of imminent war. 
The shadow of His loss drew like eclipse, 
Darkening the world. We have lost him : he is 

gone: 
We know him now : all narrow jealousies 
Are silent ; and we see him as he moved. 
How modest, kindly, all-accomplish'd, wise, 



8 DEDICA TION. 

With what subUme repression of himself, 
And in what Hmits, and how tenderly ; 
Not swaying to this faction or to that ; 
Not making his high place the lawless perch 
Of wing'd ambitions, nor a vantage-ground 
For pleasure ; but thro' all this tract of years 
Wearing the white flower of a blameless life, 
Before a thousand peering littlenesses. 
In that fierce light which beats upon a throne, 
And blackens every blot : for where is he. 
Who dares foreshadow for an only son 
A loveher life, a more unstainM, than his? 
Or how should England dreaming oi his sons 
Hope more for these than some inheritance 
Of such a life, a heart, a mind as thine. 
Thou noble Father of her Kings to be. 
Laborious for her people and her poor — 
Voice in the rich dawn of an ampler day — 
Far-sighted summoner of War and Waste 
To fruitful strifes and rivalries of peace — 
Sweet nature gilded by the gracious gleam 
Of letters, dear to Science, dear to Art, 
Dear to thy land and ours, a Prince indeed, 
Beyond all titles, and a household name, 
Hereafter, thro' all times, Albert the Good. 



Break not, O woman's-heart, but still endure ; 
Break not, for thou art Royal, but endure. 
Remembering all'the beauty of that star 
Which shone so close beside Thee that ye made 



DEDICA TION, 

One light together, but has past and leaves 
The Crown a lonely splendour. 

May all love, 
His love, unseen but felt, overshadow Thee, 
The love of all Thy sons encompass Thee, 
The love of all Thy daughters cherish Thee, 
The love of all Thy people comfort Thee, 
Till God's love set Thee at his side again ! 



10 THE COMING OF ARTHUR, 



THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 

Leodogran, the King of Cameliard, 
Had one fair daughter, and none other child ; 
And she was fairest of all flesh on earth, 
Guinevere, and in her his one delight. 

For many a petty king ere Arthur came 
Ruled in this isle, and ever w^aging war 
Each upon other, wasted all the land ; 
And still from time to time the heathen host 
SwarmM overseas, and harried what was left. 
And so there grew great tracts of wilderness, 
Wherein the beast was ever more and more, 
But man was less and less, till Arthur came. 
For first Aurelius lived and fought and died, 
And after him King Uther fought and died, 
But either faiPd to make the kingdom one. 
And after these King Arthur for a space, 
And thro' the puissance of his Table Round, 
Drew all their petty princedoms under him. 
Their king and head, and made a realm, and reign'd. 

And thus the land of Cameliard was waste. 
Thick with wet woods, and many a beast therein, 
And none or few to scare or chase the beast ; 



THE COMING OF ARTHUR. U 

So that wild dog, and wolf and boar and bear 
Came night and day, and rooted in the fields, 
And wallowM in the gardens of the King. ^"""^ 
And ever and anon the wolf would steal 
the children and devour, but now and then, 
Her own brood lost or dead, lent her fierce teat 
To human sucklings; and the children, housed . 
In her foul den, there at their meat would growl, 
And mock their foster-mother on four feet. 
Till, straighten'd, they grew up to wolf-like men, 
Worse than the wolves. And King Leodogran 
Groan'd for the Roman legions here again. 
And Caesar's eagle : then his brother king*^ 
Urien, assail'd him : last a heathen horde. 
Reddening the sun with smoke and earth with blood, 
And on the spike that split the mother's heart 
Spitting the child, brake on him, till, amazed, 
He knew not whither he should turn for aid._ ^- ' j 

But — for he heard of Arthur newly crown'd, 
Tho' not without an uproar made by those 
Who cried, " He is not Uther's son " — the King 
Sent to him, saying, " Arise, and help us thou! 
For here between the man and beast we die." 

And Arthur yet had done no deed of arms, 
But heard the call, and came : and Guinevere 
Stood by the castle walls to watch him pass ; 
But since he neither wore on helm or shield 
The golden symbol of his kinglihood, 
But rode a simple knight among his knights, 



12 THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 

And many of these in richer arms than he, 
She saw him not, or mark'd not, if she saw, 
One among many, tho' his face was bare. 
But Arthur, looking downward as he past. 
Felt the light of her eyes into his life 
Smite on the sudden, yet rode on, and pitch'd 
His tents beside the forest. Then he drave 
The heathen ; after, slew the beast, and felPd 
The forest, letting in the sun, and made 
Broad pathways for the hunter and the knight, 
And so return'd. 

For while he linger'd there, 
A doubt that ever smoulder'd in the hearts 
Of those great Lords and Barons of his realm 
Flashed forth and into war : for most of these, 
Colleaguing with a score of petty kings. 
Made head against him, crying, " Who is he 
That he should rule us ? who hath proven him 
King Uther's son? for lo ! we look at him. 
And find nor face nor bearing, limbs nor voice, 
Are like to those of Uther whom we knew. 
This is the son of Gorlois, not the King; 
This is the son of Anton, not the King." 

And Arthur, passing thence to battle, felt 
Travail, and throes and agonies of the life, 
Desiring to be join'd with Guinevere ; 
And thinking as he rode, " Her father said 
That there between the man and beast they die. 
Shall I not lift her from this land of beasts 



THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 13 

Up to my throne, and side by side with me? 
What happiness to reign a lonely king, 
Vext — O ye stars that shudder over me, 

earth that soundest hollow under me, 

Vext with waste dreams? for saving I be joined 
To her that is the fairest under heaven, 

1 seem as nothing in the mighty world, 
And cannot will my will, nor work my work 
Wholly, nor make myself in mine own realm 
Victor and lord. But were I join'd with her, 
Then might we live together as one life. 
And reigning with one will in ev^erything 
Have power on this dark land to lighten it, 
And power on this dead world to make it live." 

Thereafter — as he speaks who tells the tale — 
When Arthur reached a field-of-battle bright 
With pitch'd pavilions of his foe, the world 
Was all so clear about him, that he saw 
The smallest rock far on the faintest hill, 
And even in high day the morning star. 
So when the King had set his banner broad, 
At once from either side, with trumpet-blast. 
And shouts, and clarions shrilling unto blood. 
The long-lanced battle let their horses run. 
And now the Barons and the kings prevailed. 
And now the King, as here and there that war 
Went swaying ; but the Powers who walk the world 
Made lightnings and great thunders over him, 
And dazed all eyes, till Arthur by main might, 
And mightier of his hands with every blow, 



14 THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 

And leading all his knighthood threw the kings 

Carados, Urien, Cradlemont of Wales, 

Claudias, and Clariance of Northumberland, 

The King Brandagoras of Latangor, 

With Anguisant of Erin, Morganore, 

And Lot of Orkney. /Then, before a voice 

As dreadful as the shout of one who sees 

To one who sins, and deems himself alone 

And all the world asleep, they swerved and brake 

Flying, and Arthur call'd to stay the brands 

That hack'd among the flyers, ') Ho ! they yield ! " 

So like a painted battle the waf stood 

Silenced, the living quiet as the dead, 

And in the heart of Arthur joy was lord. 

He laugh'd upon his warrior whom he loved 

And honourM most. "Thou dost not doubt me 

King, 
So well thine arm hath wrought for me to-day." 
" Sir and my liege," he cried, " the fire of God 
Descends upon thee in the battle-field : 
I know thee for my King ! " Whereat the two, 
For each had warded either in the fight, 
Sware on the field of death a deathless love. 
And Arthur said, " Man's word is God in man : 
Let chance what will, I trust thee to the death." 

Then quickly from the foughten field he sent 
Ulfius, and Brastias, and Bedivere, 
His new-made knights, to King Leodogran, 
Saying, " If I in aught have served thee well, 
Give me thy daughter Guinevere to wife." 



THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 15 

Whom when he heard, Leodogran in heart 
Debating — "■ How should I that am a king, 
However much he holp me at my need. 
Give my one daughter saving to a king, 
And a king's son?" — lifted his voice, and call'd 
A hoary man, his chamberlain, to whom 
He trusted all things, and of him required 
His counsel: " Knovvest thou aught of Arthur's 
birth?'' 

Then spake th^ hoary chamberlain and said, 
" Sir King, there be but two old men that know : 
And each is twice as old as I ; and one 
Is Merlin, the wise" man that ever served 
King Uther thro' his magic art ; and one 
Is Merlin's master (so they call him) Bleys, 
Who taught him magic ; but the scholar ran 
Before the master, and so far, that Bleys 
Laid magic by, and sat him down, and wrote 
All things and whatsoever Merlin did 
In one great annal-book, where after-years 
Will learn the secret of our Arthur's birth." 

To whom the King Leodogran replied, 
" O friend, had I been holpen half as well 
By this King Arthur as by thee to-day. 
Then beast and man had had their share of me : 
But summon here before us yet once more 
Ulfius, and Brastias, and Bedivere." 

Then, when they came before him, the King said, 
" I have seen the cuckoo chased by lesser fowl, 



16 THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 

And reason in the chase : but wherefore now 
Do these your lords stir up the heat of war, 
Some calUng Arthur born of Gorlois, 
Others of Anton? Tell me, ye yourselves, 
Hold ye thio Arthur for King Uther's son?" 

And Ulfius and Brastias answer'd, " Ay." 
Then Bedivere, the first of all his knights 
Knighted by Arthur at his crowning, spake — 
For bold in heart and act and word was he. 
Whenever slander breathed against the King — 

" Sir, there be many rumours on this head : 
For there be those who hate him in their hearts, 
Call him baseborn, and since his ways are sweet, 
And theirs are bestial, hold him less than man : 
And there be those who deem him more than man, 
And dream he dropt from heaven : but my belief 
In all this matter — so ye care to learn — 
Sir, for ye know that in King Uther's time 
The prince and warrior Gorlois, he that held 
Tintagil castle by the Cornish sea, 
Was wedded with a winsome wife, Ygerne : 
And daughters had she borne him, — one whereof, 
Lot's wife, the Queen of Orkney, Bellicent, 
Hath ever like a loyal sister cleaved 
To Arthur, — but a son she had not borne. 
And Uther cast upon her eyes of love : 
But she, a stainless wife to Gorlois, 
So loathed the bright dishonour of his love, 
That Gorlois and King Uther went to war : 



THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 17 

And overthrown was Gorlois and slain. 

Then Uther in his wrath and heat besieged 

Ygerne within Tintagil, where her men, 

Seeing the mighty swarm about their walls, 

Left her and fled, and Uther entered in, 

And there was none to call to but himself. 

So, compass'd by the power of the King, 

Enforced she was to wed him in her tears, 

And with a shameful swiftness : afterward. 

Not many moons, King Uther died himself. 

Moaning and wailing fcr an heir to rule 

After him, lest the realm should go to wrack. 

And that same night, the night of the new year, 

By reason of the bitterness and grief 

That vext his mother, all before his time 

Was Arthur born, and all as soon as born 

Deliver'd at a secret postern-gate 

To Merlin, to be holden far apart 

Until his hour should come ; because the lords 

Of that fierce day were as the lords qf this, 

Wild beasts, and surely would have torn the child 

Piecemeal among them, had they known ; for each 

But sought to rule for his own self and hand. 

And many hated Uther for the sake 

Of Gorlois. Wherefore Merlin took the child. 

And gave him to Sir Anton, an old knight 

And ancient friend of Uther ; and his wife 

Nursed the young prince, and rear'd him with her 

own; 
And no man knew. And ever since the lords 
Have foughten like wild beasts among themselves, 



18 THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 

So that the reahn has gr-ne to wrack : but now 
This year, when Merhn (for his hour had come) 
Brought Arthur forth, and set him in the 
Proclaiming, ' Here is Uther^s heir, your king,' 
A hundred voices cried, ' Away with him ! 
No king of ours ! a son of Gorlois he, 
Or else the child of Anton, and no king, 
Or else baseborn.'' Yet Merlin thro' his craft, 
And while the people clamour'd for a king, 
Had Arther crown'd ; but after, the great lords 
Banded, and so brake out in open war." 

Then while the King debated with' himself 
If Arthur were the child of shamefulness, 
Or born the son of Gorlois, after death. 
Or Uther's son, and born before his time, 
Or whether there were truth in anything 
Said by these three, there came to Cameliard, 
With Gawain and young Modred, her two sons, 
Lot's wife, the Queen of Orkney, Bellicent ; 
Whom as he could, not as he would, the King 
Made feast for, saying, as they sat at meat, 

" A doubtful throne is ice on summer seas. 
Ye come from Arthur's court. Victor his men 
Report him ! Yea, but ye — think ye this king — 
So many those that hate him, and so strong, 
So few his knights, however brave they be — 
Hath body enow to hold his foemen down?" 

" O King," she cried, "and I will tell thee : few, 
Few, but all brave, all of one mind with him ; 



THE COMING OF AK7HUR. 19 

For I was near him when the savage yells 

Of Uther's peerage died, and Arthur sat 

Crown'd on the dais, and his warriors cried, 

' Be thou the king, and we will work thy will 

Who love thee/ Then the King in low deep tones, 

And simple words of great authority, 

Bound them by so strait vows to his own self, 

That when they rose, knighted from kneeling, some 

Were pale as at the passing of a ghost. 

Some flushed, and others dazed, as one who wakes 

Half-blinded at the coming of a light. 

" But when he spake and cheer'd his Table Round 
With large divine and comfortable words 
Beyond my tongue to tell thee — I beheld 
From eye to eye thro' all their Order flash 
A momentary likeness of the King : 
And ere it left their faces, thro' the cross 
And those around it and the Crucified, 
Down from the casement over Arthur, smote 
Flame-colour, vert and azure, in three rays, 
One falling upon each of three fair queens, 
Who stood in silence near his throne, the friends 
Of Arthur, gazing on him, tall, with bright 
Sweet faces, who will help him at his need. 

" And there I saw mage Merlin, whose vast wit 
And hundred winters are but as the hands 
Of loyal vassals toiling for their liege. 

"And near him stood the Lady of the Lake, 
Who knows a subtler magic than his own — 



20 THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 

Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. 
She gave the King his huge cross-hilted sword, 
Whereby to drive the heathen out : a mist 
Of incense curPd about her, and her face 
Wellnigh was hidden in the minster gloom; 
But there was heard among the holy hymns 
A voice as of the waters, for she dwells 
Down in a deep, calm, whatsoever storms 
May shake the world, and when the surface rolls, 
Hath power to walk the waters Hke our Lord. 

" There likewise I beheld Excalibur 
Before him at his crowning borne, the sword 
That rose from out the bosom of the lake. 
And Arthur row'd across and took it — rich 
With jewels, elfin Urim, on the hilt, 
Bewildering heart and eye — the blade so bright 
That men are blinded by it — on one side, 
Graven in the oldest tongue of all this world, 
' Take me,^ but turn the blade and ye shall see, 
And written in the speech ye speak yourself, 
' Cast me away ! ' And sad was Arthur's face 
Taking it, but old Merlin counsell'd him, 
' Take thou and strike ! the time to cast away 
Is yet far-off." So this great brand the king 
Took, and by this will beat his foemen down." 

Thereat Leodogran rejoiced, but thought 
To sift his doubtings to the last, and ask'd. 
Fixing full eyes of question on her face. 
*' The swallow and the swift are near akin, 



THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 21 

But thou art closer to this noble prince, 
Being his own dear sister ; " and she said, 
" Daughter of Gorlois and Ygerne am I ; " 
"And therefore Arthur's sister?" ask'd the King. 
She answer'd, "These be secret things," and signM 
To those two sons to pass and let them be. 
And Gawain went, and breaking into song 
Sprang out, and followed by his flying hair 
Ran like a colt, and leapt at all he saw : 
But Modred laid his ear beside the doors, 
And there half-heard ; the same that afterward 
Struck for the throne, and striking found his doom. 

And then the Queen made answer, " What know I ? 
For dark my mother was in eyes and hair, 
And dark in hair and eyes am I ; and dark 
Was Gorlois, yea and dark was Uther too, 
Wellnigh to blackness ; but this King is fair 
Beyond the race of Britons and of men. 
Moreover, always in my mind I hear 
A cry from out the dawning of my life, 
A mother weeping, and I hear her say, 
' O that ye had some brother, pretty one. 
To guard thee on the rough ways of the world.'" 

" Ay," said the King, " and hear ye such a cry? 
But when did Arthur chance upon thee first?" 

" O King ! " she cried, "■ and I will tell thee true : 
He found me first when yet a little maid : 
Beaten I had been for a little fault 



22 THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 

Whereof I was not guilty ; and out I ran 

And flung myself down on a bank of heath, 

And hated this fair world and all therein, 

And wept, and wish'd that I were dead ; and he - 

I know not whether of himself he came, 

Or brought by Merlin, who, they say, can walk 

Unseen at pleasure — he was at my side 

And spake sweet words, and comforted my heart, 

And dried my tears, being a child with me. 

And many a time he came, and evermore 

As I grew greater grew with me ; and sad 

At times he seem'd, and sad with him was I, 

Stern too at times, and then I loved him not, 

But sweet again, and then I loved him well. 

And now of late I see him less and less. 

But those first days had golden hours for me, 

For then I surely thought he would be king. 

" But let me tell thee now another tale : 
For Bleys, our Merlin's master, as they say, 
Died but of late, and sent his cry to me, 
To hear him speak before he left his life. 
Shrunk like a fairy changeling lay the mage ; 
And when I enterd told me that himself 
And Merlin ever served about the King, 
Uther, before he died ; and on the night 
When Uther in Tintagil past away 
Moaning and wailing for an heir, the two 
Left the still King, and passing forth to breathe. 
Then from the castle gateway by the chasm 
Descending thro' the dismal night — a night 



THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 23 

In which the bounds of heaven and earth were lost — 

Beheld, so high upon the dreary deeps 

It seem'd in heaven, a ship, the shape thereof 

A dragon wing'd, and all from stem to stern 

Bright with a shining people on the decks, 

And gone as soon as seen. And then the two 

Dropt to the cove, and watch'd the great sea fall. 

Wave after wave, each mightier than the last, 

Till last, a ninth one, gathering half the deep 

And full of voices, slowly rose and plunged 

Roaring, and all the wave was in a flame : 

And down the wave and in the flame was borne 

A naked babe, and rode to Merlin's feet. 

Who stoopt and caught the babe, and cried ' The 

King ! 
Here is an heir for Uther ! ' And the fringe 
Of that great breaker, sweeping up the strand, 
Lash'd at the wizard as he spake the word, 
And all at once all round him rose in fire, 
So that the child and he were clothed in fire. 
And presently thereafter followed calm. 
Free sky and stars : ' And this same child,' he said, 
' Is he who reigns ; nor could I part in peace 
Till this were told.' And saying this the seer 
Went thro' the strait and dreadful pass of death. 
Not ever to be question'd any more 
Save on the further side ; but when I met 
Merlin, and ask'd him if these things were truth — 
The shining dragon and the naked child 
Descending in the glory of the seas — 
He laugh'd as is his wont, and answered me 



24 THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 

In riddling triplets of old time, and said : 

" ' Rain, rain, and sun ! a rainbow in the sky ! 

A young man will be wiser by and by ; 

An old man's wit may wander ere he die. 
Rain, rain, and sun ! a rainbow on the lea! 

And truth is this to me, and that to thee ; 

And truth or clothed or naked let it be. 

Rain, sun, and raiii ! and the free blossom blows : 

Sun, rain, and sun ! and where is he who knows? 

From the great deep to the great deep he goes.' 

" So Merlin riddling anger'd me ; but thou 
Fear not to give this King thine only child, 
Guinevere : so" great bards of him will sing 
Hereafter ; and dark sayings from of old 
Ranging and ringing thro' the minds of men, 
And echo'd by old folk beside their fires 
For comfort after their wage-work is done. 
Speak of the King ; and Merlin in our time 
Hath spoken also, not in jest, and sworn 
Tho' men may wound him that he will not die, 
But pass, again to come ; and then or now 
Utterly smite the heathen underfoot, 
Till these and all men hail him for their king." 

She spake and King Leodogran rejoiced. 
But musing " Shall I answer yea or nay?" 
Doubted, and drowsed, nodded and slept, and saw, 
Dreaming, a slope of land that ever grew, 
Field after field, up to a height, the peak 
Haze-hidden, and thereon a phantom king, 



THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 25 

Now looming, and now lost ; and on the slope 
The sword rose, the hind fell, the herd was driven, 
Fire glimpsed ; and all the land from roof and rick. 
In drifts of smoke before a rolling wind, 
Streamed to the peak, and mingled with the haze 
And made it thicker ; while the phantom king 
Sent out at times a voice ; and here or there 
Stood one who pointed toward the voice, the rest 
Slew on and burnt, crying, " No king of ours, 
No son of Uther, and no king of ours ; " 
Till with a wink his dream was changed, the haze 
Descended, and the solid earth became 
As nothing, but the King stood out in heaven, 
Crown'd. And Leodogran awoke, and sent 
Ulfius, and Brastias and Bedivere, 
Back to the court of Arthur answering yea. 

Then Arthur charged his warrior whom he loved 
And honoured most, Sir Lancelot, to ride forth 
And bring the Queen ; — and watch'd him from the 

gates : 
And Lancelot past away among the flowers, 
(For then was latter April) and returned 
Among the flowers, in May, with Guinevere. 
To whom arrived, by Dubric the high saint, 
Chief of the church in Britain, and before 
The stateliest of her altar-shrines, the King 
That morn was married, while in stainless white, 
The fair beginners of a nobler time. 
And glorying in their vows and him, his knights 
Stood round him, and rejoicing in his joy. 



26 THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 

Far shone the fields of May thro' open door, 
The sacred altar blossomM white with May, 
The Sun of May descended on their King, 
They gazed on all earth's beauty in their Queen, 
Roird incense, and there past along the hymns 
A voice as of the waters, while the two 
Sware at the shrine of Christ a deathless love : 
And Arthur said, " Behold, thy doom is mine. 
Let chance what will, I love thee to the death ! " 
To whom the Queen replied with drooping eyes, 
" King and my lord, I love thee to the death ! " 
And holy Dubric spread his hands and spake, 
" Reign ye, and live and love, and make the world 
Other, and may thy Queen be one with thee. 
And all this Order of thy Table Round 
Fulfil the boundless purpose of their King ! " 

So Dubric said ; but when they left the shrine 
Great Lords from Rome before the portal stood, 
In scornful stillness gazing as they past ; 
Then while they paced a city all on fire 
With sun and cloth of gold, the trumpets blew, 
And Arthur's knighthood sang before the King : — 

" Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May; 
Blow tiiimpet, the long night hath roll'd away! 
Blow thro' the living world — ' Let the King reign.' 

" Shall Rome or Heathen rule in Arthur's realm? 
Flash brand and lance, fall battleaxe upon helm, 
Fall battleaxe, and flash brand ! Let the King reign. 



THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 27 

"Strike for the King and live! his knights have 
heard 
That God hath told the King a secret word. 
Fall battleaxe, and flash brand ! Let the King reign. 

" Blow trumpet! he will lift us from the dust. 
Blow trumpet ! live the strength and die the lust ! 
Clang battleaxe, and clash brand ! Let the King 
reign. 

" Strike for the King and die ! and if thou diest, 
The King is King, and ever wills the highest. 
Clang batdeaxe, and clash brand I Let the King 
reign. 

" Blow, for our Sun is mighty in his May! 
Blow, for our Sun is mightier day by day ! 
Clang battleaxe, and clash brand ! Let the King 
reign. 

" The King will follow Christ, and we the King 
In whom high God hath breathed a secret thing. 
Fall batdeaxe, and flash brand ! Let the King 
reign." 

So sang the knighthood, moving to their hall. 
There at the banquet those great Lords from Rome, 
The slowly-fading mistress of the world, 
Strode in, and claimed their tribute as of yore. 
But Arthur spake, " Behold, for these have sworn 
To wage my wars, and worship me their King ; 



28 THE COMING OF ARTHUR. 

The old order changeth, yielding place to new ; 
And we that fight for our fair father Christ, 
Seeing that ye be grown too weak and old 
To drive the heathen from your Roman wall, 
No tribute will wc pay : " so those great lords 
Drew back in wrath, and Arthur strove with Rome. 

And Arthur and his knighthood for a space 
Were all one will, and thro' that strength the King 
Drew in the petty princedoms under him, 
Fought, and in twelve great battles overcame 
The heathen hordes, and made a realm and reign'd. 



THE ROUND TABLE. 

-^ARETH AND LYNETTE. THE HOLY GRAIL. 

,^-GERAlNT AND EITID. PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 

V MERLIN AND VIVIEN. THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 

LANCELOT AND ELAINE. GUINEVERE. 



GARETH AND LYNETTE. 

The last tail son of Lot and Bellicent, 
And tallest, Gareth, in a sliowerful spring 
Stared at the spate. A slend-^r-shafted Pine 
Lost footing, fell, and so was whirrd away. 
"How he went down," said Gareth, "as a false 

knight 
Or evil king before my lance if lance 
Were mine to use — O senseless cr.tai-act, 
Bearing all down in thy precipitancy — 
And yet thou art but swollen with cold snows 
And mine is living blood : thou dost His will, 
The Maker's, and not knowest, and I that know. 
Have strength and wit, in my good mother's hall 
Linger with vacillating obedience, 
Prison'd, and kept and coax'd and whistled tc — 
Since the good mother holds me still a child 1 



30 GARETH AND LYNETTE. 

Good mother is bad mother unto me ! 

A worse were better ; yet no worse would I. 

Heaven yield her for it, but in me put force 

To weary her ears with one continuous prayer, 

Until she let me fly discaged to sweep 

In ever-highering eagle-circles up 

To the great Sun of Glory, and thence swoop 

Down upon all things base, and dash them dead, 

A knight of Arthur, working out his will, 

To cleanse the world. Why, Gawain, when he came 

With Modred hither in the summertime, 

Ask'd me to tilt with him, the proven knight. 

Modred for want of worthier was the judge. 

Then I so shook him in the saddle, he said, 

'Thou hast half prevaiPd against me,' said so — 

he — 
Tho' Modred biting his thin lips was mute, 
For he is alway sullen : what care I ? '"' 

And Gareth went, and hovering round her chair 
Ask'd, " Mother, tho' ye count me still the child, 
Sweet mother, do ye love the child? " She laugh'd, 
" Thou art but a wild-goose to question it." 
" Then, mother, an ye love the child,'' he said, 
" Being a goose and rather tame than wild. 
Hear the child's story." " Yen, my well-beloved, 
An 'twere but of the goose and golden eggs." 

And Gareth answer'd her with kindling eyes, 
'• Nay, nay, good mother, but this egg of mine 
Was finer gold than any goose can lay ; 



GARE Til A A D L 1 WE TTE. 31 

For this an Eagle, a royal Eagle, laid 

Almost beyond eye-reach, on liuch a palm 

As glitters gilded in thy Book of Hours. 

And there was ever haunting round the palm 

A lusty youth, but poor, who often saw 

The splendour sparkling from aloft, and thought 

' An I could climb and lay my hand upon it, 

Then were I wealthier than a leash of kings.' 

But ever wh?n he reachxl a hand to climb. 

One, that had loved him from his childhood, caught 

And stayed him, ' Climb not lest thou break thy neck, 

I charge thee by my love,' and so the boy, 

Sweet mother, neither clomb, nor brake his neck, 

But brake his very heart in pining for it. 

And past away." 

To whom the mother said, 
" True love, sweet son, had risk'd himself and 

climb'd. 
And handed down the golden treasure to him." 

And Gareth answer'd her with kindling eyes, 
"Gold? said I gold? — ay then, why he, or she, 
Or whosoe'er it was, or half the world 
Had ventured — had the thing I spake of been 
Mere gold — but this was all of that true steel. 
Whereof they forr^ed the brand Excalibur, 
And lightnings play'd about it in the storm, 
And all the little fowl were flurried at it, 
And there were cries and clashings in the nest, 
That sent him from his senses : let me go." 



32 GARE TH AND L YNE TTE. 

Then Bellicent bemoan'd herself and said, 
" Hast thou no pity upon my loneliness? 
Lo, where thy father Lot beside the hearth 
Lies like a log, and all but smoulder'd out ! 
For ever since when traitor to the King 
He fought against him in the Barons' war, 
And Arthur gave him back his territory, 
His age hath slowly droopt, and now lies there 
A yet-warm corpse, and yet unburiable, 
No more ; nor sees, nor hears, nor speaks, nor 

knows. 
And both thy brethren are in Arthur's hall, 
Albeit neither loved with that full love 
I feel for thee, nor worthy such a love : 
Stay therefore thou ; red berries charm the bird. 
And thee, mine innocent, the jousts, the wars, 
Who never knewest finger-ache, nor pang 
Of wrench'd or broken limb — an often chance 
In those brain-stunning shocks, and tourney-falls, 
Frights to my heart ; but stay : follow the deer 
By these tall firs and our fast-falling burns ; 
So make thy manhood mightier day by day; 
Sweet is the chase : and I will seek thee out 
Some comfortable bride and fair, to grace 
Thy climbing life, and cherish my prone year, 
Till falling into Lot's forgetfulness 
I know not thee, myself, nor anything. 
Stay, my best son ! ye are yet more boy than man." 

Then Gareth, " An ye hold me yet for child. 
Hear yet once more the story of the child. 



GARETH AND LYNETTE. 33 

For, mother, there was once a King, like ours. 

The prince his heir, when tall and marriageable, 

Ask'd for a bride ; and thereupon the King 

Set two before him. One was fair, strong, arm'd — 

But to be won by force — and many men 

Desired her ; one, good lack, no man desired. 

And these were the conditions of the King : 

That save he won the first by force, he needs 

Must wed that other, whom no man desired, 

A red-faced bride who knew herself so vile, 

That evermore she long'd to hide herself. 

Nor fronted man or woman, eye to eye — 

Yea — some she cleaved to, but they died of her. 

And one — they call'd her Fame ; and one, — O 

Mother, 
How can ye keep me tether'd to you — Shame ! 
Man am I grown, a man's work must I do. 
Follow the deer? follow the Christ, the King, 
Live pure, speak true, right wrong, follow the King — 
Else, wherefore born ? " 

To whom the mother said, 
** Sweet son, for there be many who deem him not. 
Or will not deem him, wholly proven King — 
Albeit in mine own heart I knew him King, 
When I was frequent with him in my youth. 
And heard him Kingly speak, and doubted him 
No more than he, himself; but felt him mine. 
Of closest kin to me: yet — wilt thou leave 
Thine easeful biding here, and risk thine all, 
Life, limbs, for one that is not proven King? 



34 GARETH AND LYNETTE. 

Stay, till the cloud that settles round his birth 
Hath lifted but a little. Stay, sweet son." 

And Gareth answer'd quickly, " Not an hour, 
So that ye yield me — I will walk thro' fire. 
Mother, to gain it — your full leave to go. 
Not proven, who swept the dust of ruin'd Rome 
From off the threshold of the realm, and crushed 
The Idolaters, and made the people free? 
Who should be King save him who makes us free?" 

So when the Queen, who long had sought in 
vain 
To break him from the intent to which he grew, 
Found her son's will unwaveringly one. 
She answer'd craftily, " Will ye walk thro' fire? 
Who walks thro' fire will hardly heed the smoke. 
Ay, go then, an ye must : only one proof, 
Before thou ask the King to make thee knight, 
Of thine obedience and thy love to me. 
Thy mother, — I demand." 

And Gareth cried, 
" A hard one, or a hundred, so I go. 
Nay — quick ! the proof to prove me to the quick ! " 

But slowly spake the mother looking at him, 
"Prince, thou shalt go disguised to Arthur's hall, 
And hire thyself to serve for meats and drinks 
Among the scullions and the kitchen-knaves, 
And those that hand the dish across the bar. 



GARETII AND LYNETTE. 35 

Nor shalt thou tell thy name to anyone. 

And thou shalt serve a twelvemonth and a day." 

For so the Queen believed that when her son 
Beheld his only way to glory lead 
Low down thro' villain kitchen-vassalage, 
Her own true Gareth was too princely-proud 
To pass thereby ; so should he rest with her, 
Closed in her castle from the sound of arms. 

Silent awhile was Gareth, then replied, 
" The thrall in person may be free in soul, 
And I shall see the jousts. Thy son am I, 
And since thou art my mother, must obey. 
I therefore yield me freely to thy will ; 
For hence will I, disguised, and hire myself 
To serve with scullions and with kitchen-knaves ; 
Nor tell my name to any — no, not the King." 

Gareth awhile lingered. The mother's eye 
Full of the wistful fear that he would go, 
And turning toward him wheresoever he turn'd, 
Perplext his outward purpose, till an hour, 
When waken'd by the wind which with full voice 
Swept bellowing thro' the darkness on to dawn, 
He rose, and out of slumber calling two 
That still had tended on him from his birth. 
Before the wakeful mother heard him, went. 

The three w^ere clad like tillers of the soil. 
Southward they set their faces. The birds made 



36 GARETH AND LYNETTE. 

Melody on branch, and melody in mid air. 
The damp hill-slopes were quicken'd into green, 
And the live green had kindled into flowers, 
For it was past the time of Easterday. 

So, when their feet were planted on the plain 
That broadened toward the base of Camelot, 
Far off they saw the silver-misty morn 
Rolling her smoke about the Royal mount, 
That rose between the forest and the field. 
At times the summit of the high city flashed ; 
At times the spires and turrets half-way down 
Prick'd thro' the mist ; at times the great gate shone 
Only, that open'd on the field below : 
Anon, the whole fair city had disappeared. 

Then those who went with Gareth were amazed, 
One crying, " Let us go no further, lord. 
Here is a city of Enchanters, built 
By fairy Kings." The second echoM him, 
" Lord, we have heard from our wise man at home 
To Northward, that this King is not the King, 
But only changeling out of Fairyland, 
Who drave the heathen hence by sorcery 
And Merlin's glamour." Then the first again, 
" Lord, there is no such city anywhere, 
But all a vision." 

Gareth answered them 
With laughter, swearing he had glamour enow 
In Ills own blood, his princedom, youth and hopes, 



CARET II AND LYNETTE. 37 

To plunge old Merlin in the Arabian sea; 

So push'd them all unwilling toward the gate. 

And there was no gate like it under heaven. 

For barefoot on the keystone, which was lined 

And rippled like an ever-fleeting wave, 

The Liidy of the Lake stood : all her dress 

Wept from her sides as water flowing away ; 

But like the cross her great and goodly arms 

Stretched under all the cornice and upheld : 

And drops of water fell from either hand ; 

And down from one a sword was hung, from one 

A censer, either worn with wind and storm ; 

And o'er her breast floated the sacred fish ; 

And in the space to left of her, and right. 

Were Arthur's wars in weird devices done, 

New things and old co-twisted, as if Time 

W^ere nothing, so inveterately, that men 

Were giddy gazing there ; and over all 

High on the top were those three Queens, the 

friends 
Of Arthur, who should help him at his need. 

Then those with Gareth for so long a space 
Stared at the figures, that at last it seem'd 
The dragon-boughts and elvish emblemings 
Began to move, seethe, twine and curl : they caird 
To Gareth, " Lord, the gateway is alive.'" 

And Gareth likewise on them fixt his eyes 
So long, that ev'n to him they seem'd to move. 
Out of the city a blast of music peal'd. 



38 GA RE TH AND L YNE TTE. 

Back from the gate started the three, to whom 
From out thereunder came an ancient man, 
Long-bearded, saying, " Who be ye, my sons?" 

Then Gareth, " We be tillers of the soil, 
Who leaving share in furrow come to see 
The glories of our King : but these, my men, 
(Your city moved so weirdly in the mist) 
Doubt if the King be King at all, or come 
From Fairyland ; and whether this be built 
By magic, and by fairy Kings and Queens ; 
Or whether there be any city at all. 
Or all a vision : and this music now 
Hath scared them both, but tell thou these the truth." 

Then that old Seer made answer playing on him 
And saying, " Son, I have seen the good ship sail 
Keel upward and mast downward in the heavens, 
And solid turrets topsy-turvy in air : 
And here is truth : but an it please thee not, 
Take thou the truth as thou hast told it me. 
For truly as thou sayest, a Fairy King 
And Fairy Queens have built the city, son ; 
They came from out a sacred mountain-cleft 
Toward the sunrise, each with harp in hand, 
And built it to the music of their harps. 
And as thou sayest it is enchanted, son, 
For there is nothing in it as it seems 
Saving the King; tho' some there be that hold 
The King a shadow, and the city real : 
Yet take thou heed of him, for, so thou pass 



GARE TH AND L YNE TTE. 39 

Beneath this archway, then wilt thou become 
A thrall to his enchantments, for the King 
Will bind thee by such vows, as is a shame 
A man should not be bound by, yet the which 
No man can keep ; but, so thou dread to swear, 
Pass not beneath this gateway, but abide 
Without, among the cattle of the field. 
For an ye heard a music, like enow 
They are building still, seeing the city is built 
To music, therefore never built at all, 
And therefore built for ever." 

Gareth spake 
AngerM, " Old Master, reverence thine own beard 
That looks as white as utter truth, and seems 
Wellnigh as long as thou art statured tall ! 
Why mockest thou the stranger that hath been 
To thee fair-spoken ? " 

But the Seer replied, 
*' Know ye not then the Riddling of the Bards? 
'Confusion, and illusion, and relation, 
Elusion, and occasion, and evasion'? 
I mock thee not but as thou mockest me, 
And all that see thee, for thou art not who 
Thou seemest, but I know thee who thou art. 
And now thou goest up to mock the King, 
Who cannot brook the shadow of any lie." 

Unmockingly the mocker ending here 
Turn'd to the right, and past along the plain ; 



40 GA RE TH AND L YNE T TE. 

Whom Gareth looking after said, " My men, 
Our one white lie sits like a httle ghost 
Here on the threshold of our enterprise. 
Let love be blamed for it, not she. nor I : 
Well, we will make amends." 

With all good cheer 
He spake and laugh'd, then entered with his twain 
Camelot, a city of shadowy palaces 
And stately, rich in emblem and the work 
Of ancient kings who did their days in stone ; 
Which Merlin's hand, the Mage at Arthur's court, 
Knowing all arts, had touch'd, and everywhere 
At Arthur's ordinance, tipt with lessening peak 
And pinnacle, and had made it spire to heaven. 
And ever and anon a knight would pass 
Outward, or inward to the hall : his arms 
Clash'd ; and the sound was good to Gareth's ear. 
And out of bower and casement shyly glanced 
Eyes of pure women, wholesome stars of love ; 
And all about a healthful people stept 
As in the presence of a gracious king. 

Then into hall Gareth ascending heard 
A voice, the voice of Arthur, and beheld 
Far over heads in that long-vauhed hall 
The splendour of the presence of the King 
Throned, and delivering doom — and look'd no 

more — 
But felt his young heart hammering in his ears, 
And thought, " For this half-shadow of a lie 



GARETH AND LYNETTE. 41 

The truthful King will doom*me when I speak." 

Yet pressing on, tho' all in fear to find 

Sir Gawain or Sir Modred, saw nor one 

Nor other, but in all the listening eyes 

Of those tall knights, that ranged about the throne, 

Clear honour shining like the dewy star 

Of dawn, and faith in their great King, with pure 

Affection, and^the light of victory, 

And glory gainM, and evermore to gain. 

Then came a widow crying to the King, 
" A boon. Sir King ! Thy father, Uther, reft 
From my dead lord a field with violence : 
For howsoever at first he proffefd gold, 
Yet, for the field was pleasant in our eyes, 
We yielded not ; and then he reft us of it 
Perforce, and left us neither gold nor field." 

Said Arthur, " Whether would ye ? gold or field? " 
To whom the woman weeping, " Nay, my lord, 
The field was pleasant in my husband's eye." 

And Arthur, " Have thy pleasant field again, 
And thrice the gold for Uther's use thereof. 
According to the years. No boon is here, 
But justice, so thy say be proven true. 
Accursed, who from the wrongs his father did 
Would shape himself a right ! " 

And while she past, 
Came yet another widow crying to him, 
" A boon. Sir King ! Thine enemy. King, am I. 



42 GARETH AND LYNETTE. 

With thine own hand thou slewest my dear lord, 
A knight of Uther in the Barons' war, 
When Lot and many another rose and fought 
Against thee, saying thou wert basely born 
I held with these, and loathe to ask thee aught. 
Yet lo ! my husband's brother had my son 
ThralPd in his castle, and hath starved him dead ; 
And standeth seized of that inheritaivce 
Which thou that slewest the sire hast left the son. 
So tho' I scarce can ask it thee for hate, 
Grant me some knight to do the battle for me, 
Kill the foul thief, and wreak me for my son." 

Then strode a good knight forward, crying to him, 
"A boon, Sir King! I am her kinsman, I. 
Give me to right her wrong, and slay the man." 

Then came Sir Kay, the seneschal, and cried, 
" A boon, Sir King ! ev'n that thou grant her none, 
This railer, that hath mock'd thee in full hall — 
None ; or the wholesome boon of gyve and gag." 

But Arthur, " We sit King, to help the wrong'd 
Thro' all our realm. The woman loves her lord. 
Peace to thee, woman, with thy loves and hates ! 
The kings of old had doom'd thee to the flames, 
Aurelius Emrys would have scourged thee dead. 
And Uther slit thy tongue : but get thee hence — 
Lest that rough humour of the kings of old 
Return upon me ! Thou that art her kin, 
Go likewise ; lay him low and slay him not, 



GARE Til AND L VNE TTE. 43 

But bring him here, that I may judge the right, 
According to the justice of the King : 
Then, be he guilty, by that deathless King 
Who lived and died for men, the man shall die." 

Then came in hall the messenger of Mark, 
A name of evil savour in the land, 
The Cornish king. In either hand he bore 
What dazzled all, and shone far-off as shines 
A field of charlock in the sudden sun 
Between two showers, a cloth of palest gold. 
Which down he laid before the throne, and knelt, 
Delivering, that his lord, the vassal king, 
Was ev'n upon his way to Camelot ; 
For having heard that Arthur of his grace 
Had made his goodly cousin, Tristram, knight, 
And, for himself was of the greater state, 
Being a king, he trusted his liege-lord 
Would yield him this large honour all the more ; 
So pray'd him well to accept this cloth of gold, 
In token of true heart and fealty. 

Then Arthur cried to rend the cloth, to rend 
In pieces, and so cast it on the hearth. 
An oak-tree smouldered there. *' The goodly knight ! 
What ! shall the shield of Mark stand among these ? " 
For, midway down the side of that long hall 
A stately pile, — whereof along the front. 
Some blazon'd, some but car^'en, and some blank. 
There ran a treble range of stony shields, — 
Rose, and high-arch injr overbrow'd the hearth. 



44 GARETH AND LYNETTE. 

And under every shield a knight was named : 
For this was Arthur's custom in his hall ; 
When some good knight had done one noble deed, 
His arms were carven only ; but if twain 
His arms were blazon'd also ; but if none 
The shield was blank and bare without a sign 
Saving the name beneath ; and Gareth saw 
The shield of Gawain blazoned rich and bright, 
And Modred's blank as death ; and Arthur cried 
To rend the cloth and cast it on the hearth. 

" More like are we to reave him of his crown 
Than make him knight because men call him 

king. 
The kings we found, ye know we stay'd their 

hands 
From war among themselves, but left them kings; 
Of whom were any bounteous, merciful, 
Truth-speaking, brave, good livers, them we en- 
rolled 
Among us, and they sit within our hall. 
But Mark hath tarnish'd the great name of king, 
As Mark would sully the low state of churl : 
And, seeing he hath sent us cloth of gold. 
Return, and meet, and hold him from our eyes, 
Lest we should lap him up in cloth of lead. 
Silenced for ever — craven — a man of plots. 
Craft, poisonous counsels, wayside ambushings — 
No fault of thine : let Kay the seneschal 
Look to thy wants, and send thee satisfied — 
Accursed, who strikes nor lets the hand be seen!" 



GARETH AND LYNETTE. 4'i 

And many another suppliant crying came 
With noise of ravage wrought by beast and man, 
And evermore a knight would ride away. 

Last, Gareth leaning both hands heavily 
Down on the shoulders of the twain, his men. 
Approached between them toward the King, and 

ask'd, 
"A boon, Sir King (his voice was all ashamed). 
For see ye not ho}v weak and hungerworn 
I seem — leaning on these? grant me to serve 
For meat and drink among thy kitchen-knaves 
A twelvemonth and a day, nor seek my name. 
Hereafter I will fight." 

To him the King, 
*' A goodly youth and worth a goodlier boon ! 
But so thou wilt no goodlier, then must Kay, 
The master of the meats and drinks, be thine." 

He rose and past ; then Kay, a man of mien 
Wan-sallow as the plant that feels itself 
Root-bitten by white lichen, 

" Lo ye now ! 
This fellow hath broken from some Abbey, where, 
God wot, he had not beef and brewis enow, 
However that might chance ! but an he work. 
Like any pigeon will I cram his crop, 
And sleeker shall he shine than any hog." 



46 GARETH AND LYNETTE. 

Then Lancelot standing near, " Sir Seneschal, 
Sleuth-hound thou knowest, and gray, and all the 

hounds ; 
A horse thou knowest, a man thou dost not know : 
Broad brows and fair, a fluent hair and fine, 
High nose, a nostril large and fine, and hands 
Large, fair and fine ! — Some young lad's mystery — 
But, or from sheepcot or king's hall, the boy 
Is noble-natured. Treat him with all grace, 
Lest he should come to shame thy judging of 

him." 

Then Kay, "What murmurest thou of mystery? 
Think ye this fellow will poison the King's dish? 
Nay, for he spake too fool-like : mystery ! 
Tut, an the lad were noble, he had ask'd 
For horse and armour : fair and fine, forsooth ! 
Sir Fine-face, Sir Fair-hands? but see thou to it 
That thine own fineness, Lancelot, some fine day 
Undo thee not— and leave my man to me." 

So Gareth all for glory underwent 
The sooty yoke of kitchen-vassalage ; 
Ate with young lads his portion by the door. 
And couch'd at night with grimy kitchen-knaves. 
And Lancelot ever spake him pleasantly. 
But Kay the seneschal who loved him not 
Would hustle and harry him, and labour him 
Beyond his comrade of the hearth, and set 
To turn the broach, draw water, or hew wood, 
Or grosser tasks ; and Gareth bow'd himself 



GARETH AND LYNETTE. 47 

With all obedience to the King, and wrought 

All kind of service with a noble ease 

That graced the lowliest act in doing it. 

And when the thralls had talk among themselves, 

And one would praise the love that linkt the King 

And Lancelot — how the King had saved his life 

In battle twice, and Lancelot once the King's — 

For Lancelot was the first in Tournament, 

But Arthur mightiest on the battle-field — 

Gareth was glad. Or if some other told, 

How once the wandering forester at dawn. 

Far over the blue tarns and hazy seas, 

On Caer-Eryri's highest found the King, 

A naked babe, of whom the Prophet spake, 

" He passes to the Isle Avilion, 

He passes and is heaPd and cannot die " — 

Gareth was glad. But if their talk were foul, 

Then would he whistle rapid as any lark. 

Or carol some old roundelay, and so loud 

That first they mock'd, but, after, reverenced him. 

Or Gareth telling some prodigious tale 

Of knights, who sliced a red life-bubbling way 

Thro' twenty folds of twisted dragon, held 

All in a gap-mouth'd circle his good mates 

Lying or sitting round him, idle hands, 

Charm'd ; till Sir Kay, the seneschal, would come 

Blustering upon them, like a sudden wind 

Among dead leaves, and drive them all apart. 

Or when the thralls had sport among themselves. 

So there were any trial of mastery, 

He, by two yards in casting bar or stone 



48 GARE TH AND L YNE TTE. 

Was counted best ; and if there chanced a joust, 

So that Sir Kay nodded him leave to go, 

Would hurry thither, and when he saw the knights 

Clash like the coming and retiring wave, 

And the spear spring, and good horse reel, the boy 

Was half beyond himself for ecstasy. 

So for a month he wrought among the thralls ; 
But in the v/eeks that followed, the good Queen, 
Repentant of the word she made him swear, 
And saddening in her childless castle, sent, 
Between the in-crescent and de-crescent moon, 
Arms for her son, and loosed him from his vow. 

This, Gareth hearing from a squire of Lot 
With whom he used to play at tourney once. 
When both were children, and in lonely haunts 
Would scratch a ragged oval on the sand, 
And each at either dash from either end — 
Shame never made girl redder than Gareth joy. 
He laughed ; he sprang. " Out of the smoke, at once 
I leap from Satan's foot to Peter's knee — 
These news be mine, none other's — nay, the 

King's — 
Descend into the city : " whereon he sought 
The King alone, and found, and told him all. 

" I have stagger'd thy strong Gawain in a tilt 
For pastime ; yea, he said it : joust can I. 
Make me thy knight — in secret! let my name 
Be hidd'n, and give me the first quest, I spring 
Like flame from ashes." 



GARETH AXD LYNETTE. 49 

Here the King's calm eye 
Fell on, and checked, and made him flush, and bow 
Lowly, to kiss his hand, who answer'd him, 
" Son, the good mother let me know thee here, 
And sent her wish that I would yield thee thine. 
Make thee my knight? my knights are sworn to vows 
Of utter hardihood, utter gentleness, 
And, loving, utter faithfulness in love, 
And uttermost obedience to the King." 

Then Gareth, lightly springing from his knees, 
"My King, for hardihood I can promise thee. 
For uttermost obedience make demand 
Of whom ye gave me to, the Seneschal, 
No mellow master of the meats and drinks ! 
And as for love, God wot, I love not yet, 
But love I shall, God willing." 

And the King — 
*' Make thee my knight in secret? yea, but he, 
Our noblest brother, and our truest man, 
And one with me in all, he needs must know." 

•' Let Lancelot know, my King, let Lancelot 
know, 
Thy noblest and thy truest ! " 

And the King — 
'' But wherefore would ye men should wonder at you? 
Nay, rather for the sake of me, their King, 
And the deed's sake my knighthood do the deed, 
Than to be noised of." 



50 GARETH AND LYNETTE. 

Merrily Gareth ask'd, 
" Have I not earn'd my cake in baking of it? 
Let be my name until I make my name ! 
My deeds will speak : it is but for a day." 
So with a kindly hand on Gareth's arm 
Smiled the great King, and half-unwillingly 
Loving his lusty youthhood yielded to him. 
Then, after summoning Lancelot privily, 
'* I have given him the first quest : he is not proven. 
Look therefore when he calls for this in hall, 
Thou get to horse and follow him far away. 
Cover the hons on thy shield, and see 
Far as thou mayest, he be nor ta'en nor slain." 

Then that same day there past into the hall 
A damsel of high lineage, and a brow 
May-blossom, and a cheek of apple-blossom, 
Hawk-eyes ; and lightly w^as her slender nose 
Tip-tilted like the petal of a flower ; 
She into hall past with her page and cried, 

*' O King, for thou hast driven the foe without, 
See to the foe within ! bridge, ford, beset 
By bandits, everyone that owns a tower 
The Lord for half a league. Why sit ye there? 
Rest would I not. Sir King, an I w^ere king, 
Till ev'n the lonest hold were all as free 
From cursed bloodshed, as thine altar-cloth 
From that best blood it is a sin to spill." ' 

" Comfort thyself," said Arthur, " I nor mine 
Rest : so my knighthood keep the vows they swore, 



GARE TH AND L YNE TTE. 51 

The wastest moorland of our realm shall be 
Safe, damsel, as the centre of this hall. 
What is thy name? thy need?" 

" My name ? " she said — 
'■ Lynette my name ; noble ; my need, a knight 
To combat for my sister, Lyonors, 
A lady of high lineage, of great lands, 
And comely, yea, and comelier than myself. 
She lives in Castle Perilous : a river 
Runs in three loops about her living-place ; 
And o'er it are three passings, and three knights 
Defend the passings, brethren, and a fourth 
And of that four the mightiest, holds her stayed 
In her own castle, and so besieges her 
To break her will, and make her wed with him : 
And but delays his purport till thou send 
To do the battle with him, thy chief man 
Sir Lancelot whom he trusts to overthrow, 
Then wed, with glory : but she will not wed 
Save whom she loveth, or a holy life. 
Now therefore have I come for Lancelot." 

Then Arthur mindful of Sir Gareth ask'd, 
" Damsel, ye know this Order lives to crush 
All wrongers of the Realm. But say, these four, 
Who be they? What the fashion of the men?" 

" They be of foolish fashion, O Sir King, 
The fashion of that old knight-errantry 
Who ride abroad and do but what they will ; 



52 GARE TH AND L YNE TTE. 

Courteous or bestial from the moment, such 
As have nor law nor king ; and three of these 
Proud in their fantasy call themselves the Day, 
Morning-Star, and Noon-Sun, and Evening-Star, 
Being strong fools ; and never a whit more wise 
The fourth, who alway rideth arm'd in black, 
A huge man-beast of boundless savagery. 
He names himself the Night and oftener Death, 
And wears a helmet mounted with a skull, 
And bears a skeleton figured on his arms, 
To show that who may slay or scape the three 
Slain by himself shall enter endless night. 
And all these four be fools, but mighty men. 
And therefore am I come for Lancelot." 

Hereat Sir Gareth calPd from where he rose, 
A head with kindling eyes above the throng, 
"A boon, Sir King — this quest!" then — for he 

mark'd 
Kay near him groaning like a wounded bull — 
" Yea, King, thou knowest thy kitchen-knave am I, 
And mighty thro' thy meats and drinks am I, 
And I can topple over a hundred such. 
Thy promise, King," and Arthur glancing at him, 
Brought down a momentary brow. " Rough, sudden. 
And pardonable, worthy to be knight — 
Go therefore," and all hearers are amazed. 

But on the damsel's forehead shame, pride, wrath 
Slew the May-white : she lifted either arm, 
" Fie on thee. King ! I ask'd for thy chief knight, 



GARETH AND LYNETTE. 53 

And thou hast given me but a kitchen-knave." 
Then ere a man in hall could stay her, turned, 
Fled down the lane of access to the King, 
Took horse, descend'^d the slope street, and past 
The weird white gate, and paused without, beside 
The field of tourney, murmuring " kitchen-knave." 

Now two great entries open'd from the hall, 
At one end one, that gave upon a range 
Of level pavement where the King would pace 
At sunrise, gazing over plain and wood ; 
And down from this a lordly stairway sloped 
Till lost in blowing trees and tops of towers ; 
And out by this main doorway past the King. 
But one was counter to the hearth, and rose 
High that the his^hest-crested helm could ride 
Therethro' nor graze : and by this entry fled 
The dan:Gel in her wrath, and on to this 
Sir Gareth strode, and saw without the door 
King Arthur's gift, the worth of half a town, 
A warhorse of the best, and near it stood 
The two that out of north had followM him : 
This bare a maiden shield, a casque ; that held 
The horse, the spear ; whereat Sir Gareth loosed 
A cloak that dropt from collar-bone to heel, 
A cloth of roughest web, and cast it down. 
And from it like a fuel-smother'd fire. 
That lookt half-dead, brake bright, and flash'd as 

those 
Dull-coated things, that making slide apart 
Their dusk wing-cases, all beneath there burns 



54 GA RE TH AND L YNE T TE. 

A jeweird harness, ere they pass and fly. 
So Gareth ere he parted flashed in arms. 
Then as he donn'd the hehn, and took the shield 
And mounted liorse and graspt a spear, of grain 
Storm-strengthen'd on a windy site, and tipt 
With trenchant steel, around him slowly prest 
The people, while from out of kitchen came 
The thralls in throng, and seeing who had work'd 
Lustier than any, and whom they could but love, 
Mounted in arms, threw up their caps and cried, 
" God bless the King, and all his fellowship!" 
And on thro' lanes of shouting Gareth rode 
Down the slope street, and past without the gate. 

So Gareth past with joy ; but as the cur 
Pluckt from the cur he fights with, ere his cause 
Be cooPd by fighting, follows, being named, 
His owner, but remembers all, and growls 
Remembering, so Sir Kay beside the door 
Muttered in scorn of Gareth whom he used 
To harry and hustle. 

" Bound upon a quest 
With horse and arms — the King hath past his 

time — 
My scullion knave ! Thralls to your work again, 
For an your fire be low ye kindle mine ! 
Will there be dawn in West and eve in East? 
Begone ! — my knave ! — belike and like enow 
Some old head-blow not heeded in his youth 
So shook his wits they wander in his prime — 



GARE TH AND L YNE T TE. 5 5 

Crazed ! How the villain lifted up his voice, 
Nor shamed to bawl himself a kitchen-knave. 
Tut : he was tame and meek enow with me, 
Till peacock'd up with Lancelot's noticing. 
Well — I will after my loud knave, and learn 
Whether he know me for his master yet. 
Out of the smoke he came, and so my lance 
Hold, by God's grace, he shall into the mire — 
Thence, if the King awaken from his craze, 
Into the smoke again." 

But Lancelot said, 
" Kay, wherefore wilt thou go against the King, 
For that did never he whereon ye rail, 
But ever meekly served the King in thee ? 
Abide : take counsel ; for this lad is great 
And lusty, and knowing both of lance and sword." 
"Tut, tell not me," said Kay, "ye are overfine 
To mar stout knaves with foolish courtesies : " 
Then mounted, on thro' silent faces rode 
Down the slope city, and out beyond the gate. 

But by the field of tourney lingering yet 
Mutter'd the damsel, " Wherefore did the King 
Scorn me ? for, were Sir Lancelot lackt, at least 
He might have yielded to me one of those 
Who tilt for lady's love and glory here. 
Rather than — O sweet heaven ! O fie upon him — 
His kitchen-knave." 

To whom Sir Gareth drew 
(And there were none but few goodlier than he) 



56 GARETH AND LYNETTE. 

Shining in arms, " Damsel, the quest is mine. 

Lead, and I follow." She thereat, as one 

That smells a foul-flesh'd agaric in the holt, 

And deems it carrion of some woodland thing, 

Or shrew, or weasel, nipt her slender nose 

With petulant thumb and finger, shrilling, " Hence! 

Avoid, thou smellest all of kitchen-grease. 

And look who comes behind," for there was Kay. 

*' Knowest thou not me? thy master? I am Kay. 

We lack thee by the hearth." 

And Gareth to him, 
*' Master no more ! too well I know thee, ay — 
The most ungentle knight in Arthur's hall." 
" Have at thee then," said Kay : they shock'd, and 

Kay 
Fell shoulder-sHpt, and Gareth cried again, 
" Lead, and I follow," and fast away she fled. 

But after sod and shingle ceased to fly 
Behind her, and the heart of her good horse 
Was nigh to burst with violence of the beat, 
Perforce she stay'd, and overtaken spoke. 

'* What doest thou, scullion, in my fellowship? 
Deem'st thou that I accept thee aught the more 
Or love thee better, that by some device 
Full cowardly, or by mere unhappiness. 
Thou hast overthrown and slain thy master — 

thou ! — 
Dish-washer and broach-turner, loon ! — to me 
Thou smellest all of kitchen as before." 



GARETH AND LYIJETTE. 57 

"Damsel," Sir Gareth answer'd gently, " say 
Whatever ye will, but whatsoe'er ye say, 
I leave not till I finish this fair quest, 
Or die therefore." 

"Ay, wilt thou finish it? 
Sweet lord, how like a noble knight he talks ! 
The listening rogue hath caught the manner of it. 
But, knave, anon thou shalt be met with, knave, 
And then by such a one that thou for all 
The kitchen brewis that was ever supt 
Shalt not once dare to look him in the face." 

" I shall assay," said Gareth with a smile 
That madden'd her, and away she flash'd again 
Down the long avenues of a boundless wood. 
And Gareth following was again beknaved. 

" Sir Kitchen-knave, I have miss'd the only way 
Where Arthur's men are set along the wood ; 
The wood is nigh as full of thieves as leaves : 
If both be slain, I am rid of thee ; but yet, 
Sir Scullion, canst thou use that spit of thine? 
Fight, an thou canst : I have miss'd the only way." 

So till the dusk that followed evensong 
Rode on the two, reviler and reviled ; 
Then after one long slope was mounted, saw, 
Bowl-shaped, thro' tops of many thousand pines 
A gloomy-gladed hollow slowly sink 
To westward — in the deeps whereof a mere, 



58 GARETH AND LYNETTE. 

Round as the red eye of an Eagle-owl, 

Under the half-dead sunset glared ; and shouts 

Ascended, and there brake a servingman 

Flying from out of the black wood, and crying, 

"They have bound my lord to cast him in the 

mere." 
Then Gareth, " Bound am I to right the wrongM, 
But straitlier bound am I to bid ; with thee." 
And when the damsel spake contemptuously, 
" Lead, and I follow," Gareth cried again, 
" Follow, I lead ! " so down among the pines 
He plunged; and there, blackshadow'd nigh the 

mere. 
And mid-thigh-deep in bulrushes and reed, 
Saw six tall men haling a seventh along, 
A stone about his neck to drown him in it. 
Three with good blows he quieted, but three 
Fled thro' the pines ; and Gareth loosed the stone 
From off his neck, then in the mere beside 
Tumbled it; oilily bubbled up the mere. 
Last, Gareth loosed his bonds and on free feet 
Set him, a stalwart Baron, Arthur's friend. 

"Well that ye came, or else these caitiff rogues 
Had wreak'd themselves on me ; good cause is 

theirs 
To hate me, for my wont hath ever been 
To catch my thief, and then like vermin here 
Drown him, and with a stone about his neck; 
And under this wan water many of them 
Lie rotting, but at night let go the stone. 



GARE TH AND L YNE T TE. 59 

And rise, and flickering in a grimly light 

Dance on the mere. Good now, ye have saved a 

life 
Worth somewhat as the cleanser of this w^ood. 
And fain would I rew^ard thee worshipfuUy. 
What guerdon will ye? " 

Gareth sharply spake, 
" None ! for the deed's sake have I done the deed. 
In uttermost obedience to the King. 
But wilt thou yield this damsel harbourage ? " 

Whereat the Baron saying, " I well believe 
You be of Arthurs Table," a light laugh 
Broke from Lynette, "Ay, truly of a truth, 
And in a sort, being Arthur's kitchen-knave ! — 
But deem not I accept thee aught the more, 
Scullion, for running sharply with thy spit 
Down on a rout of craven foresters. 
A thresher with his flail had scattered them. 
Nay — for thou smellest of the kitchen still. 
But an this lord wdll yield us harbourage. 
Well." 

So she spake. A league beyond the wood. 
All in a full-fair-manor and a rich, 
His towers where that day a feast had been 
Held in high hall, and many a viand left. 
And many a costly cate, received the three. 
And there they placed a peacock in his pride 
Before the damsel, and the Baron set 
Gareth beside her, but at once she rose. 



60 GARETH AND LYNETTE. 

" Meseems, that here is much discourtesy, 
Setting this knave, Lord Baron, at my side. 
Hear me — this morn I stood in Arthur's hall, 
And pray'd the King would grant me Lancelot 
To fight the brotherhood of Day and Night — 
The last a monster unsubduable 
Of any save of him for whom I calPd — 
Suddenly bawls this frontless kitchen-knave, 
' The quest is mine ; thy kitchen-knave am I, 
And mighty thro' thy meats and drinks am L' 
Then Arthur all at once gone mad replies, 
' Go therefore,' and so gives the quest to him — 
Him — here — a villain fitter to stick swine 
Than ride abroad redressing women's wrong. 
Or sit beside a noble gentlewoman." 

Then half-ashamed and part-amazed, the lord 
Now look'd at one and now at other, left 
The damsel by the peacock in his pride, 
And, seating Gareth at another board, 
Sat down beside him, ate and then began. 

" Friend, whether thou be kitchen-knave, or not, 
Or whether it be the maiden's fantasy, 
And v/hether she be mad, or else the King, 
Or both or neither, or thyself be mad, 
I ask not : but thou strikest a strong stroke, 
For strong thou art and goodly therewithal, 
And saver of my life ; and therefore now, 
For here be mighty men to joust with, weigh 
Whether thou wilt not with thy damsel back 



GARE TH AND L YNE TTE. 61 

To crave again Sir Lancelot of the King. 
Thy pardon ; I but speak for thine avail, 
The saver of my hfe.'" 

And Gareth said, 
'* Full pardon, but I follow up the quest. 
Despite of Day and Night and Death and Hell." 

So when, next morn, the lord whose life he saved 
Had, some brief space, convey'd them on their way 
And left them with God-speed, Sir Gareth spake, 
" Lead, and I follow." Haughtily she replied, 

" I fly no more : I allow thee for an hour. 
Lion and stoat have isled together, knave. 
In time of flood. Nay, furthermore, methinks 
Some ruth is mine for thee. Back wilt thou, fool? 
For hard by here is one will overthrow 
And slay thee : then will I to court again, 
And shame the King for only yielding me 
My champion from the ashes of his hearth." 

To whom Sir Gareth answered courteously, 
" Say thou thy say, and I will do my deed. 
Allow me for mine hour, and thou wilt find 
My fortunes all as fair as hers who lay 
Among the ashes and wedded the King's son." 

Then to the shore of one of those long loops 
Wherethro' the serpent river coiPd, they came. 
Rough-thicketed were the banks and steep ; the 
stream 



62 GARETH AND LYNETTE. 

Full, narrow ; this a bridge of single arc 

Took at a leap ; and on the further side 

Arose a silk pavilion, gay with gold 

In streaks and rays, and all Lent-lily in hue, 

Save that the dome was purple, and above, 

Crimson, a slender. banneret fluttering. 

And therebefore the lawless warrior paced 

UnarmM, and calling, "Damsel, is this he, 

The champion thou hast brought from Arthur's 

hall? 
For whom we let thee pass." *' Nay, nay," she said, 
" Sir Morning-Star. The King in utter scorn 
Of thee and thy much folly hath sent thee here 
His kitchen-knave: and look thou to thyself: 
See that he fall not on thee suddenly, 
And slay thee unarm'd : he is not knight but knave." 

Then at his call, " O daughters of the Dawn, 
And servants of the Morning-Star, approach, 
Arm me," from out the silken curtain-folds 
Bare-footed and bare-headed three fair girls 
In gilt and rosy raiment came : their feet 
In dewy grasses glistenM ; and the hair 
All over glanced with dewdrop or with gem 
Like sparkles in the stone Avanturine. 
These arm'd him in blue arms, and gave a shield 
Blue also, and thereon the morning star. 
And Gareth silent gazed upon the knight. 
Who stood a moment, ere his horse was brought. 
Glorying: and in the stream beneath him, shone 
Imminc'led with Heaven's azure waveringly, 



GARETH AND LYNETTE. 63 • 

The gay pavilion and the naked feet, 
His arms, the rosy raiment, and the star. 

Then she that watch'd him, " Wherefore stare ye 



so? 
Thou shakest in thy fear : there yet is time : 
Flee down the valley before he get to horse. 
Who will cry shame? Thou art not knight but 

knave." 

Said Gareth, "Damsel, whether knave or knight. 
Far liefer had I fight a score of times 
Than hear thee so missay me and revile. 
Fair words were best for him who fights for thee ; 
But truly foul are better, for they send 
That strength of anger thro' mine arms, I know 
That I shall overthrow him." 

And he that bore 
The star, being mounted, cried from o'er the bridge, 
"A kitchen-knave, and sent in scorn of me! 
Such fight not I, but answer scorn with scorn. 
For this were shame to do him further wrong 
Than set him on his feet, and take his horse 
And arms, and so return him to the King. 
Come, therefore, leave thy lady lightly, knave. 
Avoid : for it beseem eth not a knave 
To ride with such a lady." 

" Dog, thou liest. 
I spring from loftier lineage than thine own." 
He spake ; and all at fiery speed the two 



64 GARETH AND LYNETTE. 

ShockM on the central bridge, and either spear 
Bent but not brake, and either knight at once, 
Hurl'd as a stone from out of a catapult 
Beyond his horse's crupper and the bridge, 
Fell, as if dead ; but quickly rose and drew, 
And Gareth lash'd so fiercely with his brand 
He drave his enemy backward down the bridge, 
The damsel crying, "Well-stricken, kitchen-knave!" 
Till Gareth's shield was cloven ; but one stroke 
Laid him that clove it grovelling on the ground. 

Then cried the fall'n, " Take not my life : I yield." 
And Gareth, " So this damsel ask it of me 
Good — I accord it easily as a grace." 
She reddening, "Insolent scullion: I of thee? 
I bound to thee for any favour ask'd ! " 
" Then shall he die." And Gareth there unlaced 
His helmet as to slay him, but she shrieked, 
" Be not so hardy, scullion, as to slay 
One nobler than thyself." " Damsel, thy charge 
Is an abounding pleasure to me. Knight, 
Thy life is thine at her command. Arise 
And quickly pass to Arthur's hall, and say 
His kitchen-knave hath sent thee. See thou crave 
His pardon for thy breaking of his laws. 
Myself, when I return, will plead for thee. 
Thy shield is mine — farewell; and, damsel, thou. 
Lead, and I follow." 

And fast away she fled. 
Then when he came upon her, spake, " Methought, 



GARE TH AND L YNE T TE. 65 

Knave, when I watched thee striking on the bridge 

The savour of thy kitchen came upon me 

A little faintlier : but the wind hath changed : 

I scent it twenty-fold." And then she sang, 

" ' O morning star' (not that tall felon there 

Whom thou by sorcery or unhappiness 

Or some device, hast foully overthrown), 

' O morning star that smilest in the blue, 

O star, my morning dream hath proven true, 

Smile sweetly, thou ! my love hath smiled on 



*' fiut thou begone, take counsel, and away, 
For hard by here is one that guards a ford — 
The second brother in their fooPs parable — 
Will pay thee all thy wages, and to boot. 
Care not for shame : thou art not knight but knave." 

To whom Sir Gareth answer'd, laughingly, 
♦' Parables.? Hear a parable of the knave. 
When I was kitchen-knave among the rest 
Fierce was the hearth, and one of my co-mates 
Own'd a rough dog, to whom he cast his coat, 
' Guard it,' and there was none to meddle with 

it. 
And such a coat art thou, and thee the King 
Gave me to guard, and such a dog am I, 
To worry, and not to flee — and — knight or knave — 
The knave that doth thee service as full knight 
Is all as good, meseems, as any knight 
Toward thy sister's freeing." 



66 GARE TH AND L YNE TTE. 

"Ay, Sir Knave! 
Ay, knave, because thou strikest as a knight. 
Being but knave, I hate thee all the more." 

" Fair damsel, you should worship me the more, 
That, being but knave, I throw thine enemies." 

*'Ay, ay," she said, "but thou shalt meet thy 
match." 

So when they touch'd the second river-loop, 
Huge on a huge red horse, and all in mail 
Burnish'd to blinding, shone the Noonday Sun 
Beyond a raging shallow. As if the flower, 
That blows a globe of after arrowlets, 
Ten thousand-fold had grown, flashed the fierce 

shield, 
All sun ; and Gareth's eyes had flying blots 
Before them when he turnM from watching him. 
He from beyond the roaring shallow roar'd, 
"What doest thou, brother, in my marches here?" 
And she athwart the shallow shrilPd again, 
" Here is a kitchen-knave from Arthur's hall 
Hath overthrown thy brother, and hath his arms." 
" Ugh ! " cried the Sun, and vizoring up a red 
And cipher face of rounded foolishness, 
PushM horse across the foamings of the ford. 
Whom Gareth met midstream : no room was there 
For lance or tourney-skill : four strokes they struck 
With sword, and these were mighty ; the new knight 
Had fear he might be shamed ; but as the Sun 



GARE TH AND L YNE TTE. 67 

Heaved up a ponderous arm to strike the fifth, 
The hoof of his horse slipt in the stream, the stream 
Descended, and the Sun was wash'd away. 

Then Gareth laid his lance athwart the ford ; 
So drew him home ; but he that fought no more, 
As being all bone-batter'd on the rock, 
Yielded ; and Gareth sent him to the King. 
" Myself when I return will plead for thee." 
" Lead, and I follow." Quietly she led. 
" Hath not the good wind, damsel, changed again? " 
" Nay, not a point : nor art thou victor here. 
There lies a ridge of slate across the ford ; 
His horse thereon stumbled — ay, for I saw it. 

"*0 Sun' (not this strong fool whom thou, Sir 
Knave, 
Hast overthrown thro' mere unhappiness), 
' O Sun, that wakenest all to bliss or pain, 
O moon, that layest all to sleep again. 
Shine sweetly: twice my love hath smiled on me.' 

" What knowest thou of lovesong or of love ? 
Nay, nay, God wot, so thou wert nobly born, 
Thou hast a pleasant presence. Yea, perchance, — 

" ' O dewy flowers that open to the sun, 
O dewy flowers that close when day is done. 
Blow sweetly : twice my love hath smiled on me.' 

"What knowest thou of flowers, except, belike, 
To garnish meats with? hath not our good King 



68 GARETH AND LYNETTE. J 

Who lent me thee, the flower of kitchendom, 
A foolish love for flowers ? what stick ye round 
The pasty ? wherewithal deck the boar's head ? 
Flowers? nay, the boar hath rosemaries and bay. 

" ' O birds, that warble to the morning sky, 
O birds that warble as the day goes by, 
Sing sweetly : twice my love hath smiled on me.' 

" What knowest thou of birds, lark, mavis, merle, 
Linnet? what dream ye when they utter forth 
May-music growing with the growing light, 
Their sweet sun-worship ? these be for the snare 
(So runs thy fancy) these be for the spit. 
Larding and basting. See thou have not now 
Larded thy last, except thou turn and fly 
There stands the third fool of their allegory." 

For there beyond a bridge of treble bow. 
All in a rose-red from the west, and all 
Naked it seem'd, and glowing in the broad 
Deep-dimpled current underneath, the knight, 
That named himself the Star of Evening, stood. 

And Gareth, " Wherefore waits the madman there 
Naked in open dayshine? " " Nay," she cried, 
" Not naked, only wrapt in hardened skins 
That fit him like his own ; and so ye cleave 
His armour off him, these will turn the blade." 

Then the third brother shouted o'er the bridge, 
" O brother-star, why shine ye here so low? 



GARE TH AND L YNE T TE. 69 

Thy ward is higher up : but have ye slain 

The damsers champion? " and the damsel cried, 

" No star of thine, but shot from Arthur's heaven 
With all disaster unto thine and thee ! 
For both thy younger brethren have gone down 
Before this youth ; and so wilt thou, Sir Star ; 
Art thou not old?" 

" Old, damsel, old and hard, 
Old, with the might and breath of twenty boys." 
Said Gareth, " Old, and over-bold in brag! 
But that same strength which threw the Morning 

Star 
Can throw the Evening." 

Then that other blew 
A hard and deadly note upon the horn. 
" Approach and arm me ! " With slow steps from 

out 
An old storm-beateli, russet, many-stain'd 
Pavilion, forth a grizzled damsel came, 
And arm^'d him in old arms, and brought a helm 
With but a drying evergreen for crest. 
And gave a shield whereon the Star of Even 
Half-tarnish'd and half-bright, his emblem, shone. 
But when it glitter'd o'er the saddle-bow. 
They madly hurPd together on the bridge ; 
And Gareth overthrew him, lighted, drew. 
There met him drawn, and overthrew him again, 
But up like fire he started : and as oft 



70 GARE TH AND L YNE TTE. 

As Gareth brought him grovelling on his knees, 

So many a time he vaulted up again ; 

Till Gareth panted hard, and his great heart, 

Foredooming all his trouble was in vain, 

Laboured within him, for he seemM as one 

That all in later, sadder age begins 

To war against ill uses of a life, 

But these from all his life arise, and cry, 

" Thou hast made us lords, and canst not put us 

down! " 
He half despairs ; so Gareth seemM to strike 
Vainly, the damsel clamouring all the while, 
" Well done, knave-knight, well stricken, O good 

knight-knave — 
O knave, as noble as any of all the knights — 
Shame me not, shame me not. I have prophesied — 
Strike, thou art worthy of the Table Round — 
His arms are old, he trusts the harden'd skin — 
Strike — strike — the wind will never change again," 
And Gareth hearing ever stronglier smote. 
And hew'd great pieces of his arfhour off him, 
But lash'd in vain against the hardened skin. 
And could not wholly bring him under, more 
Than loud Southwesterns, rolling ridge on ridge, 
The buoy that rides at sea, and dips and springs 
For ever ; till at length Sir Gareth's brand 
Clashed his, and brake it utterly to the hilt. 
" I have thee now ; " but forth that other sprang, 
And, all unknightlike, writhed his wiry arms 
Around him, till he felt, despite his mail, 
Strangled, but straining ev'n his uttermost 



GARETH AND LYNETTE. 71 

Cast, and so hurl'd him headlong o'er the bridge 
Down to the river, sink or swim, and cried, 
" Lead, and I follow." 

But the damsel said, 
" I lead no longer ; ride thou at my side ; 
Thou art the kingliest of all kitchen-knaves. 

" ' O trefoil, sparkling on the rainy plain, 
O rainbow with three colours after rain. 
Shine sweetly : thrice my love hath smiled on me.' 

"Sir, — and, good faith, I fain had added — 
Knight, 
But that I heard thee call thyself a knave, — 
Shamed am I that I so rebuked, reviled, 
Missaid thee ; noble I am ; and thought the King 
Scorn'd me and mine ; and now thy pardon, friend, 
For thou hast ever answered courteously. 
And wholly bold thou art, and meek withal 
As any of Arthur's best, but, being knave, 
Hast mazed my wit : I marvel what thou art." 

" Damsel," he said, " you be not all to blame, 
Saving that you mistrusted our good King 
Would handle scorn, or yield you, asking, one 
Not fit to cope your quest. You said your say ; 
Mine answer was my deed. Good sooth ! I hold 
He scarce is knight, yea but half-man, nor meet 
To fight for gentle damsel, he, who lets 
His heart be stirr'd with any foolish heat 
At any gentle damsel's waywardness. 



72 GARETH AND LYNETTE. 

Shamed? care not! thy foul sayings fought for 

me : 
And seeing now thy words are fair, methinks 
There rides no knight, not Lancelot, his great self, 
Hath force to quell me." 

Nigh upon that hour 
When the lone hern forgets his melancholy, 
Lets down his other leg, and stretching, dreams 
Of goodly supper in the distant pool. 
Then turn'd the noble damsel smiling at him, 
And told him of a cavern hard at hand, 
Where bread and baken meats and good red wine 
Of Southland, which the Lady Lyonors 
Had sent her coming champion, waited him. 

Anon they past a narrow comb wherein 
Were slabs of rock with figures, knights on horse 
Sculptured, and deckt in slowly-waning hues. 
"Sir Knave, my knight, a hermit once was here, 
Whose holy hand hath fashion'd on the rock 
The war of Time against the soul of man. 
And yon four fools have suck'd their allegory 
From these damp walls, and taken but the form. 
Know ye not these ? " and Gareth lookt and read — • 
In letters like to those the vexillary 
Hath left crag-carven o'er the streaming Gelt — 
" Phosphorus," then " Meridies " — " Hespe- 
rus " — 
" Nox" — "Mors," beneath five figures, armed men. 
Slab after slab, their faces forward all. 



GA RE TH AND L YNE TTE. 73 

And running down the Soul, a Shape that fled 
With broken wings, torn raiment and loose hair, 
For help and shelter to the hermit's cave. 
" Follow the faces, and we find it. Look, 
Who comes behind? " 

For one — delay'd at first 
Thro' helping back the dislocated Kay 
To Camelot, then by what thereafter chanced, 
The damsel's headlong error thro' the wood — 
Sir Lancelot, having swum the river-loops — 
His blue shield-lions covered — softly drew 
Behind the twain, and when he saw the star 
Gleam, on Sir Gareth's turning to him, cried, 
" Stay, felon knight, I avenge me for my friend." 
And Gareth crying prick'd against the cry ; 
But when they closed — in a moment — at one 

touch 
Of that skill'd spear, the wonder of the world — 
Went sliding down so easily, and fell, 
That when he found the grass within his hands 
He laugh'd ; the laughter jarr'd upon Lynette : 
Harshly she ask'd him, " Shamed and overthrown. 
And tumbled back into the kitchen-knave. 
Why laugh ye? that ye blew your boast in vain? " 
" Nay, noble damsel, but that I, the son 
Of old King Lot and good Queen Bellicent, 
And victor of the bridges and the ford, 
And knight of Arthur, here lie thrown by whom 
I know not, all thro' mere unhappiness — 
Device and sorcery and unhappiness — 



74 GARE TH AND L YNE T TE. 

Out, sword ; we are thrown ! " And Lancelot an- 
swerd, " Prince, 

Gareth — thro' the mere unhappiness 
Of one who came to help thee, not to harm, 
Lancelot, and all as glad to find thee whole, 
As on the day when Arthur knighted him." 

Then Gareth, " Thou — Lancelot ! — thine the 

hand 
That threw me? An some chance to mar the boast 
Thy brethren of thee make — which could not 

chance — 
Had sent thee down before a lesser spear, 
Shamed had I been, and sad — O Lancelot — thou!" 

Whereat the maiden, petulant, " Lancelot, 
Why came ye not, when calPd? and wherefore now 
Come ye, not calPd? I gloried in my knave. 
Who being still rebuked, would answer still 
Courteous as any knight — but now, if knight, 
The marvel dies, and leaves me fooPd and trick'd, 
And only wondering wherefore playM upon : 
And doubtful whether I and mine be scornM. 
Where should be truth if not in Arthur's hall, 
In Arthur's presence? Knight, knave, prince and 
fool, 

1 hate thee and for ever." 

And Lancelot said, 
" Blessed be thou, Sir Gareth ! knight art thou 



GARETH AND LYNETTE. 75 

To the King's best wish. O damsel, be you wise 

To call him shamed, who is but overthrown? 

Thrown have I been, nor once, but many a time. 

Victor from vanquished issues at the last, 

And overthrower from being overthrown. 

With sword we have not striven; and thy good 

horse 
And thou are weary ; yet not less I felt 
Thy manhood thro' that wearied lance of thine. 
Well hast thou done ; for all the stream is freed, 
And thou hast wreak'd his justice on his foes. 
And when reviled, hast answer'd graciously, 
And makest merry when overthrown. Prince, 

Knight, 
Hail, Knight and Prince, and of our Table Round ! " 

And then when turning to Lynette he told 
The tale of Gareth, petulantly she said, 
" Ay well — ay well — for worse than being fool'd 
Of others, is to fool one's self. A cave. 
Sir Lancelot, is hard by, with meats and drinks 
And forage for the horse, and flint for fire. 
But all about it flies a honeysuckle. 
Seek, till we find." And when they sought and 

found. 
Sir Gareth drank and ate, and all his life 
Past into sleep ; on whom the maiden gazed. 
" Sound sleep be thine! sound cause to sleep hast 

thou. 
Wake lusty ! Seem I not as tender to him 
As any mother ? Ay, but such a one 



76 GARETH AND LYNETTE. 

As all day long hath rated at her child, 
And vext his day, but blesses him asleep — 
Good lord, how sweetly smells the honeysuckle 
In the hush'd night, as if the world were one 
Of utter peace, and love, and gentleness ! 
O Lancelot, Lancelot" — and she clapt her hands — ■ 
" Full merry am I to find my goodly knave 
Is knight and noble. See now, sworn have I, 
Else yon black felon had not let me pass, 
To bring thee back to do the battle with him. 
Thus an thou goest, he will fight thee first ; 
Who doubts thee victor? so will my knight-knave 
Miss the full flower of this accomplishment.'" 

Said Lancelot, " Peradventure he, you name. 
May know my shield. Let Gareth, an he will. 
Change his for mine, and take my charger, fresh. 
Not to be spurred, loving the battle as well 
As he that rides him." " Lancelot-like," she said, 
" Courteous in this, Lord Lancelot, as in all." 

And Gareth, wakening, fiercely clutch'd the 
shield ; 
*' Ramp ye lance-splintering lions, on whom all spears 
Are rotten sticks ! ye seem agape to roar ! 
Yea, ramp and roar at leaving of your lord ! — 
Care not, good beasts, so well I care for you. 
O noble Lancelot, from my hold on these 
Streams virtue — fire — thro' one that will not shame 
Even the shadow of Lancelot under shield. 
Hence : let us go." 



GARETH AND LYNETTE. 77 

Silent the silent field 
They traversed. Arthur's harp tho' summer-wan, 
In counter motion to the clouds, allured 
The glance of Gareth dreaming on his liege. 
A star shot : " Lo,'' said Gareth, " the foe falls ! " 
An owl whoopt : " Hark the victor pealing there ! " 
Suddenly she that rode upon his left 
Clung to the shield that Lancelot lent him, crying, 
" Yield, yield him this again : 'tis he must fight : 
I curse the tongue that all thro' yesterday 
Reviled thee, and hath wrought on Lancelot now 
To lend thee horse and shield : wonders ye have 

done ; 
Miracles ye cannot : here is glory enow 
In having flung the three : I see thee maim'd. 
Mangled : I swear thou canst not fling the fourth." 

" And wherefore, damsel ? tell me all ye know. 
You cannot scare me ; nor rough face, or voice, 
Brute bulk of limb, or boundless savagery 
Appal me from the quest." 

" Nay, Prince," she cried, 
" God wot, I never look'd upon the face, 
Seeing he never rides abroad by day ; 
But watch'd him have I like a phantom pass 
Chilling the night : nor have I heard the voice. 
Always he made his mouthpiece of a page 
Who came and went, and still reported him 
As closing in himself the strength of ten, 
And when his anger tare him, massacring 



78 GARETH AND LYNETTE. 

Man, woman, lad and girl — yea, the soft babe ! 
Some hold that he hath swallowed infant flesh, 
Monster ! O Prince, I went for Lancelot first, 
The quest is Lancelots : give him back the shield.'" 

Said Gareth laughing, " An he fight for this, 
Belike he wins it as the better man : 
Thus — and not else ! " 

But Lancelot on him urged 
All the devisings of their chivalry 
When one might meet a mightier than himself; 
How best to manage horse, lance, sword and shield, 
And so fill up the gap where force might fail 
With skill and fineness. Instant were his words. 

Then Gareth, " Here be rules. I know but one — 
To dash against mine enemy and to win. 
Yet have I watch'd thee victor in the joust. 
And seen thy way." "Heaven help thee," sighM 
Lynette. 

Then for a space, and under cloud that grew 
To thunder-gloom palling all stars, they rode 
In converse till she made her palfrey halt. 
Lifted an arm, and softly whisperM, "There." 
And all the three were silent seeing, pitched 
Beside the Castle Perilous on flat field, 
A huge pavilion like a mountain peak 
Sunder the glooming crimson on the marge. 
Black, with black banner, and a long black horn 
Beside it hanging ; which Sir Gareth graspt, 



GARETH AND LYNETTE. 79 

And so, before the two could hinder him, 
Sent all his heart and breath thro' all the horn. 
Echo'd the walls ; a light twinkled ; anon 
Came lights and lights, and once again he blew ; 
Whereon were hollow tramplings up and down 
And muffled voices heard, and shadows past ; 
Till high above him, circled with her maids, 
The Lady Lyonors at a window stood, 
Beautiful among lights, and waving to him 
White hands, and courtesy ; but when the Prince 
Three times had blown — after long hush — at last — 
The huge pavilion slowly yielded up, 
Thro' those black foldings, that which housed 

therein. 
High on a nightblack horse, in nightblack arms. 
With white breast-bone, and barren ribs of Death, 
And crowri'd with fleshless laughter — some ten 

steps — 
In the half-light — thro' the dim dawn — advanced 
The monster, and then paused, and spake no word. 

But Gareth spake and all indignantly, 
" Fool, for thou hast, men say, the strength of ten, 
Canst thou not trust the limbs thy God hath given, 
But must, to make the terror of thee more, 
Trick thyself out in ghastly imageries 
Of that which Life hath done with, and the clod, 
Less dull than thou, will hide with mantling flowers 
As if for pity ? " But he spake no word ; 
Which set the horror higher : a maiden swoon'd ; 
The Lady Lyonors wrung her hands and wept, 



80 GARE TH AND L YNE TTE. 

As doom'd to be the bride of Night and Death ; 
Sir Gareth's head prickled beneath his helm ; 
And ev'n Sir Lancelot thro' his warm blood felt 
Ice strike, and all that marked him were aghast. 

At once Sir Lancelot's charger fiercely neigh'd, 
And Death's dark war-horse bounded forward with 

him. 
Then those that did not blink the terror, saw 
That Death was cast to ground, and slowly rose. 
But with one stroke Sir Gareth split the skull. 
Half fell to right and half to left and lay. 
Then with a stronger buffet he clove the helm 
As thoroughly as the skull ; and out from this 
Issued the bright face of a blooming boy 
Fresh as a flower new-born, and crying, " Knight, 
Slay me not : my three brethren bad me do it, 
To make a horror all about the house, 
And stay the world from Lady Lyonors. 
They never dream'd the passes would be past." 
Answer'd Sir Gareth graciously to one 
Not many a moon his younger, " My fair child, 
What madness made thee challenge the chief knight 
Of Arthur's hall?" " Fair Sir, they bad me do it. 
They hate the King, and Lancelot, the King's 

friend. 
They hoped to slay him somewhere on the stream, 
They never dream'd the passes could be past." 

Then sprang the happier day from underground ; 
And Lady Lyonors and her house, with dance 



GARE TH AND L YNE T TE. 81 

And revel and song, made merry over Death, 

As being after all their foolish fears 

And horrors only proven a blooming boy. 

So large mirth lived and Gareth won the quest. 

And he that told the tale in older times 
Says that Sir Gareth wedded Lyonors, 
But he, that told it later, says Lynette. 



82 GERAINT AND ENID, 



GERAINT AND ENID. 



The brave Geraint, a knight of Arthur's court, 
A tributary prince of Devon, one 
Of that great Order of the Table Round, 
Had married Enid, YnioPs only child, 
And loved her, as he loved the light of Heaven. 
And as the light of Heaven varies, now 
At sunrise, now at sunset, now by night 
With moon and trembling stars, so loved Geraint 
To make her beauty vary day by day. 
In crimsons and in purples and in gems. 
And Enid, but to please her husband's eye. 
Who first had found and loved her in a state 
Of broken fortunes, daily fronted him 
In some fresh splendour; and the Queen her- 
self. 
Grateful to Prince Geraint for service done. 
Loved her, and often with her own white hands 
Array'd and deck'd her, as the loveliest, 
Next after her own self, in all the court. 
And Enid loved the Queen, and with true heart 
Adored her, as the stateliest and the best 
And loveliest of all women upon earth. 
And seeing them so tender and so close. 



GERAINT AND ENID. 83 

Long in their common love rejoiced Geraint. 

But when a rumour rose about the Queen, 

Touching her guilty love for Lancelot, 

Tho' yet there lived no proof, nor yet was heard 

The world's loud whisper breaking into storm, 

Not less Geraint believed it ; and there fell 

A horror on him, lest his gentle wife. 

Thro' that great tenderness for Guinevere, 

Had suffer'd, or should suffer any taint 

In nature : wherefore going to the King, 

He made this pretext, that his princedom lay 

Close on the borders of a territory, 

Wherein were bandit earls, and caitiff knights, 

Assassins, and all flyers from the hand 

Of Justice, and whatever loathes a law : 

And therefore, till the King himself should please 

To cleanse this common sewer of all his realm, 

He craved a fair permission to depart. 

And there defend his marches ; and the King 

Mused for a little on his plea, but, last. 

Allowing it, the Prince and Enid rode. 

And fifty knights rode with them, to the shores 

Of Severn, and they past to their own land ; 

Where, thinking, that if ever yet was wdfe 

True to her lord, mine shall be so to me, 

He compassed her with sweet observances 

And worship, never leaving her, and grew 

Forgetful of his promise to the King, 

Forgetful of the falcon and the hunt, 

Forgetful of the tilt and tournament, 

Forgetful of his glory and his name, 



84 GERAINT AND ENID. 

Forgetful of his princedom and its cares. 
And this forgetfulness was hateful to her. 
And by and by the people, when they met 
In twos and threes, or fuller companies. 
Began to scoff and jeer and babble of him 
As of a prince whose manhood was all gone. 
And molten down in mere uxoriousness. 
And this she gathered from the people's eyes : 
This too the women who attired her head, 
To please her, dwelling on his boundless love, 
Told Enid, and they sadden'd her the more : 
And day by day she thought to tell Geraint, 
But could not out of bashful delicacy ; 
While he that watch'd her sadden, was the more 
Suspicious that her nature had a taint. 

At last, it chanced that on a summer morn 
(They sleeping each by either) the new sun 
Beat thro' the blindless casement of the room, 
And heated the strong warrior in his dreams ; 
Who, moving, cast the coverlet aside. 
And bared the knotted column of his throat, 
The massive square of his heroic breast, 
And arms on which the standing muscle sloped, 
As slopes a wild brook o'er a little stone, 
Running too vehemently to break upon it. 
And Enid woke and sat beside the couch, 
Admiring him, and thought within herself, 
Was ever man so grandly made as he? 
Then, like a shadow, past the people's talk 
And accusation of uxoriousness 



GERAINT AND ENID. 85 

Across her mind, and bowing over him, 
Low to her own heart piteously she said : 

" O noble breast and all-puissant arms, 
Am I the cause, I the poor cause that men 
Reproach you, saying all your force is gone ? 
I am the cause, because I dare not speak 
And tell him what I think and what they say. 
And yet I hate that he should linger here ; 
I cannot love my lord and not his name. 
Far liefer had I gird his harness on him, 
And ride with him to battle and stand by, 
And watch his mightful hand striking great blows 
At caitiffs and at wrongers of the world. 
Far better were I laid in the dark earth. 
Not hearing any more his noble voice, 
Not to be folded more in these dear arms, 
And darkened from the high light in his eyes, 
Than that my lord thro' me should suffer shame. 
Am I so bold, and could I so stand by, 
And see my dear lord wounded in the strife, 
Or maybe pierced to death before mine eyes, 
And yet not dare to tell him what I think. 
And how men slur him, saying all his force 
Is melted into mere effeminacy? 
O me, I fear that I am no true wife." 

Half inwardly, half audibly she spoke. 
And the strong passion in her made her weep 
True tears upon his broad and naked breast. 
And these awoke him, and by great mischance 



86 GERAINT AND ENID. 



And that she feared she was not a true wife. 
And then he thought, " In spite of all my care, 
For all my pains, poor man, for all my pains, 
She is not faithful to me, and I see her 
Weeping for some gay knight in Arthur's hall." 
Then tho' he loved and reverenced her too much 
To dream she could be guilty of foul act. 
Right thro' his manful breast darted the pang 
That makes a man, in the sweet face of her 
Whom he loves most, lonely and miserable. 
At this he hurl'd his huge limbs out of bed, 
And shook his drowsy squire awake and cried, 
" My charger and her palfrey ; " then to her, 
" I will ride forth into the wilderness ; 
For tho' it seems my spurs are yet to win, 
I have not fall'n so low as some would wish. 
And thou, put on thy worst and meanest dress 
And ride with me." And Enid ask'd, amazed, 
" If Enid errs, let Enid learn her fault." 
But he, " I charge thee, ask not, but obey." 
Then she bethought her of a faded silk, 
A faded mantle and a faded veil, 
And moving toward a cedarn cabinet, 
Wherein she kept them folded reverently 
With sprigs of summer laid between the folds, 
She took them, and array'd herself therein. 
Remembering when first he came on her 
Drest in that dress, and how he loved her in 

it, 
And all her foolish fears about the dress, 



GERAINT AND ENID. 87 

And all his journey to her, as himself 

Had told her, and their coming to the court. 

For Arthur on the Whitsuntide before 
Held court at old Caerleon upon Usk. 
There on a day, he sitting high in hall, 
Before him came a forester of Dean, 
Wet from the woods, with notice of a hart 
Taller than all his fellows, milky-white. 
First seen that day : these things he told the King. 
Then the good King gave order to let blow 
His horns for hunting on the morrow morn. 
And when the Queen petitioned for his leave 
To see the hunt, allowed it easily. 
So with the morning all the court were gone. 
But Guinevere lay late into the morn, 
Lost in sweet dreams, and dreaming of her love 
For Lancelot, and forgetful of the hunt ; 
But rose at last, a single maiden with her, 
Took horse, and forded Usk, and gain'd the wood ; 
There, on a little knoll beside it, stay'd 
Waiting to hear the hounds ; but heard instead 
A sudden sound of hoofs, for Prince Geraint, 
Late also, wearing neither hunting-dress 
Nor weapon, save a golden-hilted brand. 
Came quickly flashing thro' the shallow ford 
Behind them, and so gallop'd up the knoll. 
A purple scarf, at either end whereof 
There swung an apple of the purest gold, 
Sway'd round about him, as he gallop'd up 
To join them, glancing like a dragon-fly 



88 GERAINT AND ENID. 

In summer suit and silks of holiday. 

Low bow'd the tributary Prince, and she, 

Sweetly and statelily, and with all grace 

Of womanhood and queenhood, answerM him : 

" Late, late. Sir Prince," she said, " later than we ! " 

" Yea, noble Queen," he answer'd, " and so late 

That I but come like you to see the hunt. 

Not join it." " Therefore wait with me," she said ; 

" For on this little knoll, if anywhere. 

There is good chance that we shall hear the hounds : 

Here often they break covert at our feet." 

And while they listen'd for the distant hunt, 
And chiefly for the baying of Cavall, 
King Arthur's hound of deepest mouth, there rode 
Full slowly by a knight, lady, and dwarf; 
Whereof the dwarf laggYl latest, and the knight 
Had vizor up, and show'd a youthful face, 
Imperious, and of haughtiest lineaments. 
And Guinevere, not mindful of his face 
In the King's hall, desired his name, and sent 
Her maiden to demand it of the dwarf; 
Who being vicious, old and irritable, 
And doubling all his master's vice of pride, 
Made answer sharply that she should not know. 
" Then will I ask it of himself," she said. 
" Nay, by my faith, thou shalt not," cried the dwarf; 
" Thou art not worthy ev'n to speak of him ; " 
And when she put her horse toward the knight. 
Struck at her with his whip, and she returned 
Indignant to the Queen ; whereat Geraint 



GERAINT AND ENID. 89 

Exclaiming, " Surely I will learn the name," 
Made sharply to the dwarf, and ask'd it of him, 
Who answer'd as before ; and when the Prince 
Had put his horse in motion toward the knight, 
Struck at him with his whip, and cut his cheek. 
The Prince's blood spirted upon the scarf, 
Dyeing it ; and his quick, instinctive hand 
Caught at the hilt, as to abolish him : 
But he, from his exceeding manfulness 
And pure nobility of temperament, 
Wroth to be wroth at such a worm, refrain'd 
P'rom ev'n a word, and so returning said : 

" I will avenge this insult, noble Queen, 
Done in your maiden's person to yourself: 
And I will track this vermin to their earths : 
For tho' I ride unarmed, I do not doubt 
To find, at some place I shall come at, arms 
On loan, or else for pledge ; and, being found. 
Then will I fight him, and will break his pride, 
And on the third day will again be here. 
So that I be not falPn in fight. Farewell." 

" Farewell, fair Prince," answer'd the stately Queen. 
*' Be prosperous in this journey, as in all ; 
And may you light on all things that you love, 
And live to wed with her whom first you love : 
But ere you wed with any, bring your bride, 
And I, were she the daughter of a king. 
Yea, tho' she were a beggar from the hedge. 
Will clothe her for her bridals like the sun." 



90 GERAINT AND ENID. 

And Prince Geraint, now thinking that he heard 
The noble hart at bay, now the far horn, 
A little vext at losing of the hunt, 
A little at the vile occasion, rode. 
By ups and downs, thro' many a grassy glade 
And valley, with fixt eye following the three. 
At last they issued from the world of wood. 
And climb''d upon a fair and even ridge, 
And showed themselves against the sky, and sank. 
And thither came Geraint, and underneath 
Beheld the long street of a little town 
In a long valley, on one side whereof, 
White from the mason's hand, a fortress rose ; 
And on one side a castle in decay, 
Beyond a bridge that spann'd a dry ravine : 
And out of town and valley came a noise 
As of a broad brook o'er a shingly bed 
Brawling, or like a clamour of the rooks 
At distance, ere they settle for the night. 

And onward to the fortress rode the three, 
And enter'd, and were lost behind the walls. 
"So," thought Geraint, " I have track'd him to his 

earth." 
And down the long street riding wearily, 
Found every hostel full, and everywhere 
Was hammer laid to hoof, and the hot hiss 
And bustling whistle of the youth who scour'd 
His master's armour ; and of such a one 
He ask'd, " What means the tumult in the town?" 
Who told him, scouring still, " The sparrow-hawk ! " 



GERAINT AND ENID. 91 

Then riding close behind an ancient churl, 

Who, smitten by the dusty sloping beam, 

Went sweating underneath a sack of corn, 

Ask'd yet once more what meant the hubbub here ? 

WhD answer'd gruffly, " Ugh ! the sparrow-hawk." 

Then riding further past an armourer's, 

Who, with back turn'd, and bow'd above his work, 

Sat riveting a helmet on his knee. 

He put the self-same query, but the man 

Not turning round, nor looking at him, said : 

" Friend, he that labours for the sparrow-hawk 

Has little time for idle questioners.'" 

Whereat Geraint flashed into sudden spleen : 

" A thousand pips eat up your sparrow-hawk ! 

Tits, wrens, and all wing'd nothings peck him 

dead ! 
Ye think the rustic cackle of your bourg 
The murmur of the world ! What is it to me? 
O wretched set of sparrows, one and all, 
Who pipe of nothing but of sparrow-hawks ! 
Speak, if ye be not like the rest, hawk-mad. 
Where can I get me harbourage for the night? 
And arms, arms, arms to fight my enemy ? Speak ! " 
Whereat the armourer turning all amazed 
And seeing one so gay in purple silks, 
Came forward with the helmet yet in hand 
And answerM, " Pardon me, O stranger knight ; 
We hold a tourney here to-morrow morn, 
And there is scantly time for half the work. 
Arms? truth! I know not: all are wanted here. 
Harbourage? truth, good truth, I know not, save. 



92 GERAINT AND ENID. 

It may be, at Earl Yniors, o'er the bridge 
Yonder." He spoke and fell to work again. 

Then rode Geraint, a little spleenful yet, 
Across the bridge that spannM the dry ravine. 
There musing sat the hoary-headed Earl, 
(His dress a suit of fray'd magnificence, 
Once fit for feasts of ceremony) and said : 
" Whither, fair son?" to whom Geraint replied, 
" O friend, I seek a harbourage for the night." 
Then Yniol, " Enter therefore and partake 
The slender entertainment of a house 
Once rich, now poor, but ever open-door'd." 
"Thanks, venerable friend," replied Geraint; 
*' So that ye do not serve me sparrow-hawks 
For supper, I will enter, I will eat 
With all the passion of a twelve hours' fast." 
Then sigh'd and smiled the hoary-headed Earl, 
And answer'd, " Graver cause than yours is mine 
To curse this hedgerow thief, the sparrow-hawk : 
But in, go in ; for save yourself desire it. 
We will not touch upon him ev'n in jest." 

Then rode Geraint into the castle court. 
His charger trampling many a prickly star 
Of sprouted thistle on the broken stones. 
He look'd and saw that all was ruinous. 
Here stood a shattered archway plumed with fern : 
And here had falPn a great part of a tower. 
Whole, like a crag that tumbles from the cliff, 
And like a crag was gay with wilding flowers : 



GERAINT AND ENID. 93 

And high above a piece of turret stair, 
Worn by the feet that now were silent, wound 
Bare to the sun, and monstrous ivy-stems 
Claspt the gray walls with hairy-fibred arms. 
And suck'd the joining of the stones, and looked 
A knot, beneath, of snakes, aloft, a grove. 

And while he waited in the castle court, 
The voice of Enid, YnioPs daughter, rang 
Clear thro' the open casement of the hall, 
Singing ; and as the sweet voice of a bird, 
Heard by the lander in a lonely isle, 
Moves him to think what kind of bird it is 
That sings so delicately clear, and make 
Conjecture of the plumage and the form ; 
So the sweet voice of Enid moved Geraint ; 
And made him like a man abroad at morn 
When first the liquid note beloved of men 
Comes flying over many a windy wave 
To Britain, and in April suddenly 
Breaks from a coppice gemm'd with green and red, 
And he suspends his converse with a friend, 
Or it may be the labour of his hands. 
To think or say, " There is the nightingale ; " 
So fared it with Geraint, who thought and said, 
" Here, by God's grace, is the one voice for me." 

It chanced the song that Enid sang vv^as one 
Of Fortune and her wheel, and Enid sang : 

" Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the 
proud ; 



94 GERAINT AND ENID. 

Turn thy wild wheel thro' sunshine, storm, and 

cloud ; 
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate. 

" Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or 
frown ; 
With that wild wheel we go not up or down ; 
Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great. 

" Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands; 
Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands ; 
For man is man and master of his fate. 

" Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd; 
Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud ; 
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate." 

" Hark, by the bird's song ye may learn the nest," 
Said Yniol ; "'enter quickly." Entering then, 
Right o'er a mount of newly-fallen stones, 
The dusky-rafter'd many-cobweb'd hall. 
He found an ancient dame in dim brocade ; 
And near her, like a blossom vermeil-white, 
That lightly breaks a faded flower-sheath, 
Moved the fair Enid, all in faded silk. 
Her daughter. In a moment thought Geraint, 
" Here by God's rood is the one maid for me." 
But none spake word except the hoary Earl : 
" Enid, the good knight's horse stands in the court; 
Take him to stall, and give him corn, and then 
Go to the town and buy us flesh and wine ; 



GERAINT AND ENID. 95 

And we will make us merry as we may. 
Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great." 

He spake : the Prince, as Enid past him, fain 
To follow, strode a stride, but Yniol caught 
His purple scarf, and held, and said, "Forbear! 
Rest ! the good house, tho' ruin'd, O my son, 
Endures not that her guest should serve himself." 
And reverencing the custom of the house 
Geraint, from utter courtesy, forbore. 

So Enid took his charger to the stall ; 
And after went her way across the bridge. 
And reached the town, and while the Prince and 

Earl 
Yet spoke together, came again with one, 
A youth, that following with a costrel bore 
The means of goodly welcome, flesh and wine. 
And Enid brought sweet cakes to make them cheer, 
And in her veil enfolded, manchet bread. 
And then, because their hall must also serve 
For kitchen, boiFd the flesh, and spread the board, 
And stood behind, and waited on the three. 
And seeing her so sweet ^nd serviceable, 
Geraint had longing in him evermore 
To stoop and kiss the tender little thumb. 
That crost the trencher as she laid it down : 
But after all had eaten, then Geraint, 
For now the wine made summer in his veins. 
Let his eye rove in following, or rest 
On Enid at her lowly handmaid-work. 



96 G ERA INT AND ENID. 

Now here, now there, about the dusky hall ; 
Then suddenly addrest the hoary Earl : 

" Fair Host and Earl, I pray your courtesy; 
This sparrow-hawk, what is he? tell me of him. 
His name? but no, good faith, I Avill not have it: 
For if he be the knight whom late I saw 
Ride into that new fortress by your town. 
White from the mason's hand, then have I sworn 
From his own lips to have it — I am Geraint 
Of Devon — for this morning when the Queen 
Sent her own maiden to demand the name, 
His dwarf, a vicious under-shapen thing, 
Struck at her with his whip, and she returned 
Indignant to the Queen ; and then I swore 
That I would track this caitiff to his hold, 
And fight and break his pride, and have it of him. 
And all unarmM I rode, and thought to find 
Arms in your town, where all the men are mad ; 
They take the rustic murmur of their bourg 
For the great wave that echoes round the world ; 
They would not hear me speak : but if ye know 
Where I can light on arms, or if yourself 
Should have them, tell me, seeing I have sworn 
That I will break his pride and learn his name, 
Avenging this great insult done the Queen." 

Then cried Earl Yniol, " Art thou he indeed, 
Geraint, a name far-sounded among men 
For noble deeds? and truly I, when first 
I saw you moving by me on the bridge, 



GERAINT AND ENID. 97 

Felt ye were somewhat, yea, and by your state 

And presence might have guess'd you one of those 

That eat in Arthur's hall at Camelot. 

Nor speak I now from foolish flattery ; 

For this dear child hath often heard me praise 

Your feats of arms, and often when I paused 

Hath ask'd again, and ever loved to hear ; 

So grateful is the noise of noble deeds 

To noble hearts who see but acts of wrong : 

never yet had woman such a pair 

Of suitors as this maiden ; first Limours, 
A creature wholly given to brawls and wine, 
Drunk even when he woo'd ; and be he dead 

1 know not, but he past to the wild land. 
The second was your foe, the sparrow-hawk, 
My curse, my nephew — I will not let his name 
Slip from my lips if I can help it — he, 
When I that knew him fierce and turbulent 
Refused her to him, then his pride awoke ; 
And since the proud man often is the mean, 
He sow'd a slander in the common ear, 
Affirming that his father left him gold, 

And in my charge, which was not rendered to him ; 

Bribed with large promises the men who served 

About my person, the more easily 

Because my means were somewhat broken into 

Thro' open doors and hospitality ; 

Raised my own town against me in the night 

Before my Enid's birthday, sack'd my house ; 

From mine own earldom foully ousted me ; 

Built that new fort to overawe my friends, 



98 GERAINT AND ENID. 

For truly there are those who love me yet ; 
And keeps me in this ruinous castle here, 
Where doubtless he would put me soon to death, 
But that his pride too much despises me : 
And I myself sometimes despise myself; 
For I have let men be, and have their way ; 
Am much too gentle, have not used my power: 
Nor know I whether I be very base 
Or very manful, whether very wise 
Or very foolish ; only this I know, 
That whatsoever evil happen to me, 
I seem to suffer nothing heart or limb, 
But can endure it all most patiently." 

"Well said, true heart," replied Geraint, "but 
arms, 
That if the sparrow-hawk, this nephew, fight 
In next day's tourney I may break his pride." 

And Yniol answered, " Arms, indeed, but old 
And rusty, old and rusty, Prince Geraint, 
Are mine, and therefore at thine asking, thine. 
But in this tournament can no man tilt, 
Except the lady he loves best be there. 
Two forks are fixt into the meadow ground. 
And over these is placed a silver wand, 
And over that a golden sparrow-hawk, 
The prize of beauty for the fairest there. 
And this, what knight soever be in field 
Lays claim to for the lady at his side, 
And tilts with my good nephew thereupon, 



GEKATNT AND ENID. 99 

Who being apt at arms and big of bone 

Has ever won it for the lady with him, 

And toppling over all antagonism 

Has earn'd himself the name of sparrow-hawk. 

But thou, that hast no lady, canst not fight." 

To whom Geraint with eyes all bright replied, 
Leaning a little toward him, "Thy leave! 
Let vie lay lance in rest, O noble host, 
For this dear child, because I never saw, 
Tho' having seen all beauties of our time, 
Nor can see elsewhere, anything so fair. 
And if I fall her name will yet remain 
Untarnished as before ; but if I live. 
So aid me Heaven when at mine uttermost. 
As I will make her truly my true wife." 

Then, howsoever patient, YnioPs heart 
Danced in his bosom, seeing better days. 
And looking round he saw not Enid there, 
(Who hearing her own name had stol'n away) 
But that old dame, to whom full tenderly 
And fondling all her hand in his he said, 
"Mother, a maiden is a tender thing. 
And best by her that bore her understood. 
Go thou to rest, but ere thou go to rest 
Tell her, and prove her heart toward the Prince." 

So spake the kindly-hearted Earl, and she 
With frequent smile and nod departing found, 
Half-disarray'd as to her rest, the girl ; 



100 GERAINT AND ENID. 

Whom first she kiss'd on either cheek, and then 
On either shining shoulder laid a hand, 
And kept her off and gazed upon her face, 
And told her all their converse in the hall. 
Proving her heart : but never light and shade 
Coursed one another more on open ground 
Beneath a troubled heaven, than red and pale 
Across the face of Enid hearing her ; 
While slowly falling as a scale that falls, 
When weight is added only grain by grain, 
Sank her sweet head upon her gentle breast ; 
Nor did she lift an eye nor speak a word, 
Rapt in the fear and in the wonder of it ; 
So moving without answer to her rest 
She found no rest, and ever fail'd to draw 
The quiet night into her blood, but lay 
Contemplating her own unworthiness ; 
And when the pale and bloodless east began 
To quicken to the sun, arose, and raised 
Her mother too, and hand in hand they moved 
Down to the meadow where the jousts were held, 
And waited there for Yniol and Geraint. 

And thither came the twain, and when Geraint 
Beheld her first in field, awaiting him, 
He felt, were she the prize of bodily force, 
Himself beyond the rest pushing could move 
The chair of Idris. YnioPs rusted arms 
Were on his princely person, but thro' these 
Princelike his bearing shone ; and errant knights 
And ladies came, and by and by the town 



GERAINT AND ENID. 101 

Flovy'd in, and settling circled all the lists. 
And there they fixt the forks into the ground, 
And over these they placed the silver wand. 
And over that the golden sparrow-hawk. 
Then Yniol's nephew, after trumpet blown, 
Spake to the lady with him and proclaimed, 
" Advance and take as fairest of the fair, 
For I these two years past have won it for thee. 
The prize of beauty." Loudly spake the Prince, 
" Forbear : there is a worthier," and the knight 
With some surprise and thrice as much disdain 
Turn'd, and beheld the four, and all his face 
Glow'd like the heart of a great fire at Yule, 
So burnt he was with passion, crying out, 
" Do battle for it then," no more ; and thrice 
They clashed together, and thrice they brake their 

spears. 
Then each, dishorsed and drawing, lash'd at each 
So often and with such blows, that all the crowd 
WonderM, and now and then from distant walls 
There came a clapping as of phantom hands. 
So twice they fought, and twice they breathed, and 

still 
The dew of their great labour, and the blood 
Of their strong bodies, flowing, drained their force. 
But either's force was matched till YnioPs cry, 
" Remember that great insult done the Queen," 
Increased Gerainf s, who heaved his blade aloft, 
And crack'd the helmet thro', and bit the bone. 
And fell'd him, and set foot upon his breast, 
And said, " Thy name? " To whom the fallen man 



102 GERAINT AND ENID. 

Made answer, groaning, " Edyrn, son of Nudd ! 

Ashamed am I that I should tell it thee. 

My pride is broken : men have seen my fall." 

" Then, Edyrn, son of Nudd," replied Geraint, 

" These two things shalt thou do, or else thou diest 

First, thou thyself, with damsel and with dwarf, 

Shalt ride to Arthur's court, and coming there, 

Crave pardon for that insult done the Queen, 

And shalt abide her judgment on it ; next. 

Thou shalt give back their earldom to thy kin. 

These two things shalt thou do, or thou shalt die." 

And Edyrn answered, " These things will I do, 

For I have never yet been overthrown, 

And thou hast overthrown me, and my pride 

Is broken down, for Enid sees my fall ! " 

And rising up, he rode to Arthur's court, 

And there the Queen forgave him easily. 

And being young, he changed and came to loathe 

His crime of traitor, slowly drew himself 

Bright from his old dark life, and fell at last 

In the great battle fighting for the King. 

But when the third day from the hunting-morn 
Made a low splendour in the world, and wings 
Moved in her ivy, Enid, for she lay 
With her fair head in the dim-yellow light. 
Among the dancing shadows of the birds. 
Woke and bethought her of her promise given 
No later than last eve to Prince Geraint — 
So bent he seem'd on going the third day. 
He would not leave her, till her promise given — 



GERAINT AND ENID. 103 

To ride with him this morning to the court, 

And there be made known to the stately Queen, 

And there be wedded with all ceremony. 

At this she cast her eyes upon her dress, 

And thought it never yet had look'd so mean. 

For as a leaf in mid-November is 

To what it was in mid-October, seem'd 

The dress that now she look'd on to the dress 

She look'd on ere the coming of Geraint. 

And still she look'd, and still the terror grew 

Of that strange bright and dreadful thing, a court, 

All staring at her in her faded silk : 

And softly to her own sweet heart she said : 

" This noble prince who won our earldom back, 
So splendid in his acts and his attire, 
Sweet heaven, how much I shall discredit him ! 
Would he could tarry with us here awhile, 
But being so beholden to the Prince, 
It were but little grace in any of us. 
Bent as he seem'd on going this third day, 
To seek a second favour at his hands. 
Yet if he could but tarry a day or two. 
Myself would work eye dim, and finger lame, 
Far liefer than so much discredit him." 

And Enid fell in longing for a dress 
All branched and flower'd with gold, a costly gift 
Of her good mother, given her on the night 
Before her birthday, three sad years ago, 
That night of fire, when Edvrn sack'd their house. 



104 G ERA INT AND ENID. 

And scatter^ all they had to all the winds : 

For while the mother show'd it, and the two 

Were turning and admiring it, the work 

To both appeared so cosdy, rose a cry 

That Edyrn's men were on them, and they fled 

With little save the jewels they had on, 

Which being sold and sold had bought them 

bread : 
And Edyrn's men had caught them in their flight, 
And placed them in this ruin ; and she wished 
The Prince had found her in her ancient home ; 
Then let her fancy flit across the past. 
And roam the goodly places that she knew ; 
And last bethought her how she used to watch, 
Near that old home, a pool of golden carp ; 
And one was patched and blurr'd and lustreless 
Among his burnished brethren of the pool ; 
And half asleep she made comparison 
Of that and these to her own faded self 
And the gay court, and fell asleep again ; 
And dreamt herself was such a faded form 
Among her burnish'd sisters of the pool ; 
But this was in the garden of a king; 
And tho' she lay dark in the pool, she knew 
That all was bright ; that all about were birds 
Of sunny plume in gilded trellis-work ; 
That all the turf was rich in plots that looked 
Each like a garnet or a turkis in it ; 
And lords and ladies of the high court went 
In silver tissue talking things of state; 
And children of the King in cloth of gold 



GERAINT AND ENID. 105 

Glanced at the doors or gambord down the walks ; 
And while she thought "They will not see mc," 

came 
A stately queen whose name was Guinevere, 
And all the children in their cloth of gold 
Ran to her, crying, " If we have fish at all 
Let them be gold ; and charge the gardeners now 
To pick the faded creature from the pool, 
And cast it on the mixen that it die." 
And therewithal one came and seized on her, 
And Enid started waking, with her heart 
All overshadowed by the foolish dream, 
And lo ! it was her mother grasping her 
To get her well awake ; and in her hand 
A suit of bright apparel, which she laid 
Flat on the couch, and spoke exultingly: 

" See here, my child, how fresh the colours look, 
How fast they hold like colours of a shell 
That keeps the wear and polish of the wave. 
Why not? It never yet was worn, I trow: 
Look on it, child, and tell me if ye know it." 

And Enid look'd, but all confused at first, 
Could scarce divide it from her foolish dream : 
Then suddenly she knew it and rejoiced, 
And answer'd, " Yea, I know it; your good gift, 
So sadly lost on that unhappy night ; 
Your own good gift ! " " Yea, surely," said the 

dame, 
" And gladly given again this happy morn. 



106 GERAINT AND ENID. 

For when the jousts were ended yesterday, 

Went Yniol thro^ the town, and everywhere 

He found the sack and plunder of our house 

All scattered thro' the houses of the town ; 

And gave command that all which once was ours 

Should now be ours again : and yester-eve, 

While ye were talking sweetly with your Prince, 

Came one with this and laid it in my hand, 

For love or fear, or seeking favour of us, 

Because we have our earldom back again. 

And yester-eve I would not tell you of it, 

But kept it for a sweet surprise at morn. 

Yea, truly is it not a sweet surprise? 

For I myself unwillingly have worn 

My faded suit, as you, my child, have yours, 

And howsoever patient, Yniol his. 

Ah, dear, he took me from a goodly house, 

With store of rich apparel, sumptuous fare, 

And page, and maid, and squire, and seneschal. 

And pastime both of hawk and hound, and all 

That appertains to noble maintenance. 

Yea, and he brought me to a goodly house ; 

But since our fortune swerved from sun to shade, 

And all thro' that young traitor, cruel need 

Constraint us, but a better time has come ; 

So clothe yourself in this, that better fits 

Our mended fortunes and a Prince's bride : 

For tho' ye won the prize of fairest fair, 

And tho' I heard him call you fairest fair, 

Let never maiden think, however fair. 

She is not fairer in new clothes than old. 



GERAINT AND ENID. 107 

And should some great court-lady say, the Prince 
Hath picked a ragged-robin from the hedge, 
And like a madman brought her to the court, 
Then were ye shamed, and, worse, might shame the 

Prince 
To whom we are beholden ; but I know. 
When my dear child is set forth at her best. 
That neither court nor country, tho' they sought 
Thro' all the provinces like those of old 
That lighted on Queen Esther, has her match." 

Here ceased the kindly mother out of breath ; 
And Enid listened brightening as she lay ; 
Then, as the white and glittering star of morn 
Parts from a bank of snow, and by and by 
Slips into golden cloud, the maiden rose, 
And left her maiden couch, and robed herself, 
Help'd by the mother's careful hand and eye, 
Without a mirror, in the gorgeous gown ; 
Who, after, turn'd her daughter round, and said, 
She never yet had seen her half so fair ; 
And call'd her like that maiden in the tale, 
Whom Gwydion made by glamour out of flowers, 
And sweeter than the bride of Cassivelaun, 
Flur, for whose love the Roman Caesar first 
Invaded Britain, " But we beat him back, 
As this great Prince invaded us, and we, 
Not beat him back, but welcomed him with joy. 
And I can scarcely ride with you to court, 
For old am I, and rough the ways and wild ; 
But Yniol goes, and I full oft shall dream 



108 GERAINT AND ENID. 

I see my princess as I see her now, 

Clothed with my gift, and gay among the gay." 

But while the women thus rejoiced, Geraint 
Woke where he slept in the high hall, and caird 
For Enid, and when Yniol made report 
Of that good mother making Enid gay 
In such apparel as might well beseem 
His princess, or indeed the stately Queen, 
He answered : " Earl, entreat her by my love, 
Albeit I give no reason but my wish. 
That she ride with me in her faded silk." 
Yniol with that hard message went ; it fell 
Like flaws in summer laying lusty corn : 
For Enid, all abashed she knew not why. 
Dared not to glance at her good mother's face. 
But silently, in all obedience. 
Her mother silent too, nor helping her. 
Laid from her limbs the costly-broider'd gift, 
And robed them in her ancient suit again, 
And so descended. Never man rejoiced 
More than Geraint to greet her thus attired ; 
And glancing all at once as keenly at her 
As careful robins eye the delver's toil. 
Made her cheek burn and either eyehd fall, 
But rested with her sweet face satisfied ; 
Then seeing cloud upon the mother's brow, 
Her by both hands he caught, and sweetly said, 

" O my new mother, be not wroth or grieved 
At thy new son, for my petition to her. 



GERAINT AND ENID. 109 

When late I left Caerleon, our great Queen, 

In words whose echo lasts, they were so sweet, 

Made promise, thj^t whatever bride I brought, 

Herself would clothe her like the sun in Heaven. 

Thereafter, when I reach'd this ruin'd hall, 

Beholding one so bright in dark estate, 

I vow'd that could I gain her, our fair Queen, 

No hand but hers, should make your Enid burst 

Sunlike from cloud — and likewise thought perhaps, 

That service done so graciously would bind 

The two together ; fain I would the two 

Should love each other : how can Enid find 

A nobler friend? Another thought was mine ; 

I came among you here so suddenly, 

That tho' her gentle presence at the lists 

Might well have served for proof that I was loved, 

I doubted whether daughter's tenderness. 

Or easy nature, might not let itself 

Be moulded by your wishes for her weal ; 

Or whether some false sense in her own self 

Of my contrasting brightness, overbore 

Her fancy dwelling in this dusky hall ; 

And such a sense might make her long for court 

And all its perilous glories : and I thought, 

That could I someway prove such force in her 

Linked with such love for me, that at a w^ord 

(No reason given her) she could cast aside 

A splendour dear to women, new to her, 

And therefore dearer ; or if not so new, 

Yet therefore tenfold dearer by the power 

Of intermitted usage ; then I felt 



110 GERAINT AND ENID. 

That I could rest, a rock in ebbs and flows, 
Fixt on her faith. Now, therefore, I do rest, 
A prophet certain of my prophecy. 
That never shadow of mistrust can cross 
Between us. Grant me pardon for my thoughts : 
And for my strange petition I will make 
Amends hereafter by some gaudy-day, 
When your fair child shall wear your costly gift 
Beside your own warm hearth, with, on her knees, 
Who knows? another gift of the high God, 
Which, maybe, shall have learn'd to lisp you 
thanks.^' 

He spoke : the mother smiled, but half in tears, 
Then brought a mantle down and wrapt her in it, 
And claspt and kissM her, and they rode away. 

Now thrice that morning Guinevere had climb'd 
The giant tower, from whose high crest, they say. 
Men saw the goodly hills of Somerset, 
And white sails flying on the yellow sea ; 
But not to goodly hill or yellow sea 
Looked the fair Queen, but up the vale of Usk, 
By the flat -meadow, till she saw them come; 
And then descending met them at the gates. 
Embraced her with all welcome as a friend. 
And did her honour as the Prince's bride, 
And clothed her for her bridals like the sun ; 
And all that week was old Caerleon gay, 
For by the hands of Dubric, the high saint. 
They twain were wedded with all ceremony. 



GERAINT AND ENID. Ill 

And this was on the last year's Whitsuntide. 
But Enid ever kept the faded silk, 
Remembering how first he came on her, 
Drest in that dress, and how he loved her in it, 
And all her foolish fears about the dress, 
And all his journey toward her, as himself 
Had told her, and their coming to the court. 

And now this morning when he said to her, 
" Put on your worst and meanest dress," she found 
And took it, and array'd herself therein. 



O purblind race of miserable men, 
How many among us at this very hour 
Do forge a life-long trouble for ourselves. 
By taking true for false, or false for true ; 
Here, thro' the feeble twilight of this world 
Groping, how many, until we pass and reach 
That other, where we see as we are seen ! 

So fared it with Geraint, who issuing forth 
That morning, when they both had got to horse, 
Perhaps because he loved her passionately, 
And felt that tempest brooding round his heart, 
Which, if he spoke at all, would break perforce 
Upon a head so dear in thunder, said : 
" Not at my side. I charge thee ride before, 
Ever a good way on before ; and this 
I charge thee, on thy duty as a wife, 
Whatever happens, not to speak to me, 



112 GERAINT AND ENID. 

No, not a word ! " and Enid was aghast ; 

And forth they rode, but scarce three paces on, 

When crying out, " Effeminate as I am, 

I will not fight my way with gilded arms, 

All shall be iron ; " he loosed a mighty purse, 

Hung at his belt, and hurl'd it toward the squire. 

So the last sight that Enid had of home 

Was all the marble threshold flashing, strown 

With gold and scatter'd coinage, and the squire 

Chafing his shoulder : then he cried again, 

" To the wilds ! '^ and Enid leading down the 

tracks 
Thro^ which he bad her lead him on, they past 
The marches, and by bandit-haunted holds. 
Gray swamps and pools, waste places of the hern, 
And wildernesses, perilous paths, they rode : 
Round was their pace at first, but slackened soon : 
A stranger meeting them had surely thought 
They rode so slowly and they look'd so pale, 
That each had suffered some exceeding wrong. 
For he was ever saying to himself, 
"01 that wasted time to tend upon her. 
To compass her with sweet observances. 
To dress her beautifully and keep her true " — 
And there he broke the sentence in his heart 
Abruptly, as a man upon his tongue 
May break it, when his passion masters him. 
And she was ever praying the sweet heavens 
To save her dear lord whole from any wound. 
And ever in her mind she cast about 
For that unnoticed failing in herself, 



GERAINT AND ENID. 113 

Which made him look so cloudy and so cold ; 

Till the great plover's human whistle amazed 

Her heart, and glancing round the waste she fear'd 

In every wavering brake an ambuscade. 

Then thought again, " If there be such in me, 

I might amend it by the grace of Heaven, 

If he would only speak and tell me of it." 

But when the fourth part of the day was gone, 
Then Enid was aware of three tall knights 
On horseback, wholly arm'd, behind a rock 
In shadow, waiting for them, caitiffs all ; 
And heard one crying to his fellow, " Look, 
Here comes a laggard hanging down his head, 
Who seems no bolder than a beaten hound ; 
Come, we will slay him and will have his horse 
And armour, and his damsel shall be ours." 

Then Enid ponder'd in her heart, and said : 
'* I will go back a little to my lord, 
And I will tell him all their caitiff talk ; 
For, be he wroth even to slaying me, 
Far liefer by his dear hand had I die, 
Than that my lord should suffer loss or shame." 

Then she went back some paces of return, 
Met his full frown timidly firm, and said ; 
" My lord, I saw three bandits by the rock 
Waiting to fall on you, and heard them boast 
That they would slay you, and possess your horse 
And armour, and your damsel should be theirs." 



114 GERAINT AND ENID. 

He made a wrathful answer : " Did I wish 
Your warning or your silence ? one command 
I laid upon you, not to speak to me, 
And thus ye keep it ! Well then, look — for now, 
Whether ye wish me victory or defeat, 
Long for my life, or hunger for my death, 
Yourself shall see my vigour is not lost." 

Then Enid waited pale and sorrowful, 
And down upon him bare the bandit three. 
And at the midmost charging. Prince Geraint 
Drave the long spear a cubit thro' his breast 
And out beyond ; and then against his brace 
Of comrades, each of whom had broken on him 
A lance that splintered like an icicle. 
Swung from his brand a windy buffet out 
Once, twice, to right, to left, and stunn'd the twain 
Or slew them, and dismounting like a man 
That skins the wild beast after slaying him, 
Stript from the three dead wolves of woman born 
The three gay suits of armour which they wore, 
And let the bodies lie, but bound the suits 
Of armour on their horses, each on each. 
And tied the bridle-reins of all the three 
Together, and said to her, " Drive them on 
Before you ; " and she drove them thro' the waste. 

He followed nearer : ruth began to work 
Against his anger in him, while he watch'd 
The being he loved best in all the world. 
With difficulty in mild obedience 



GERAINT AND ENID. 115 

Driving them on : he fain had spoken to her, 
And loosed in words of sudden fire the wrath 
And smoulder'd wrong that burnt him all within ; 
But evermore it seemM an easier thing 
At once without remorse to strike her dead, 
Than to cry " Halt,'' and to her own bright face 
Accuse her of the least immodesty : 
And thus tongue-tied, it made him wroth the more 
That she could speak whom his own ear had heard 
Call herself false : and suffering thus he made 
Minutes an age : but in scarce longer time 
Than at Caerleon the full-tided Usk, 
Before he turn to fall seaward again. 
Pauses, did Enid, keeping watch, behold 
In the first shallow shade of a deep wood, 
Before a gloom of stubborn-shafted oaks, 
Three other horsemen waiting, wholly arm'd, 
Whereof one seeni'd far larger than her lord. 
And shook her pulses, crying, " Look, a prize ! 
Three horses and three goodly suits of arms, 
And all in charge of whom? a girl : set on." 
"Nay," said the second, " yonder comes a knight." 
The third, "A craven; how he hangs his head." 
The giant answer'd merrily, " Yea, but one? 
Wait here, and when he passes fall upon him." 

And Enid ponder'd in her heart and said, 
" I will abide the coming of mv lord, 
And I will tell him all their villainy. 
My lord is weary with the fight before. 
And they will fall upon him unawares. 



116 GERAINT AND ENID. 

I needs must disobey him for his good ; 
How should I dare obey him to his harm ? 
Needs must I speak, and tho' he kill me for it, 
I save a life dearer to me than mine.'' 



With timid firmness, "Have I leave to speak?" 
He said, " Ye take it, speaking," and she spoke. 

" There lurk three villains yonder in the wood, 
And each of them is wholly arm'd, and one 
Is larger-limb'd than you are, and they say 
That they will fall upon you while ye pass." 

To which he flung a wrathful answer back : 
"And if there were an hundred in the wood, 
And every man were larger-limb'd than I, 
And all at once should sally out upon me, 
I swear it would not ruffle me so much 
As you that not obey me. Stand aside, 
And if I fall, cleave to the better man." 

And Enid stood aside to wait the event, 
Not dare to watch the combat, only breathe 
Short fits of prayer, at every stroke a breath. 
And he, she dreaded most, bare down upon him. 
Aim'd at the helm, his lance err'd ; but Geraint's, 
A little in the late encounter strain'd. 
Struck thro' the bulky bandit's corselet home, 
And then brake short, and down his enemy roll'd, 
And there lay still ; as he that tells the tale 



GERAINT AND ENID. 117 

Saw once a great piece of a promontory, 

That had a sapUng growing on it, slide 

From the long shore-clifif 's windy walls to the beach, 

And there lie still, and yet the sapling grew : 

So lay the man transfixt. His craven pair 

Of comrades making slowlier at the Prince, 

When now they saw their bulwark fallen, stood ; 

On whom the victor, to confound them more. 

Spurred with his terrible war-cry ; for as one, 

That listens near a torrent mountain-brook, 

All thro^ the crash of the near cataract hears 

The dnmiming thiwider of the huger fall 

At distance, were the soldiers wont to hear 

His voice in battle, and be kindled by it. 

And foemen scared, like that false pair who turn'd 

Flying, but, overtaken, died the death 

Themselves had wrought on many an innocent. 

Thereon Geraint, dismounting, pickM the lance 
That pleased him best, and drew from those dead 

wolves 
Their three gay suits of armour, each from each, 
And bound them on their horses, each on each. 
And tied the bridle-reins of all the three 
Together, and said to her, " Drive them on 
Before you," and she drove them thro' the wood. 

He followM nearer still : the pain she had 
To keep them in the wild ways of the wood, 
Two sets of three laden with jingling arms, 
Together, served a little to disedge 



118 G ERA I NT AND ENID. 

The sharpness of that pain about her heart: 
And they themselves, Kke creatures gently born 
But into bad hands falPn, and now so long 
By bandits groomM, pricked their light ears, and 

felt 
Her low firm voice and tender government. 

So thro' the green gloom of the wood they past, 
And issuing under open heavens beheld 
A little town with towers, upon a rock, 
And close beneath, a meadow gemlike chased 
In the brown wild, and mowers mowing in it : 
And down a rocky pathway from the place 
There came a fair-hair'd youth, that in his hand 
Bare victual for the mowers : and Geraint 
Had ruth again on Enid looking pale : 
Then, moving downward to the meadow ground, 
He, when the fair-hair'd youth came by him, said, 
" Friend, let her eat ; the damsel is so faint." 
" Yea, willingly," replied the youth ; " and thou. 
My lord, eat also, tho' the fare is coarse. 
And only meet for mowers ; " then set down 
His basket, and dismounting on the sward 
They let the horses graze, and ate themselves. 
And Enid took a little delicately, 
Less having stomach for it than desire 
To close with her lord's pleasure ; but Geraint 
Ate all the mowers' victual unawares, 
And when he found all empty, was amazed ; 
And *' Boy," said he, "I have eaten all, but take 
A horse and arms for guerdon ; choose the best." 



G ERA INT AND ENID. 119 

He, reddening in extremity of delight, 

" My lord, you overpay me fifty-fold." 

" Ye will be all the wealthier," cried the Prince. 

" I take it as free gift, then," said the boy, 

" Not guerdon ; for myself can easily, 

While your good damsel rests, return, and fetch 

Fresh victual for these mowers of our Earl ; 

For these are his, and all the field is his, 

And I myself am his ; and I will tell him 

How ^reat a man thou art : he loves to know 

When men of mark are in his territory : 

And he will have thee to his palace here, 

And serve thee costlier than with mowers' fare." 

Then said Geraint, " I wish no better fare : 
I never ate with angrier appetite 
Than when I left your mowers dinnerless. 
And into no EarPs palace will I go. 
I know, God knows, too much of palaces ! 
And if he want me, let him come to me. 
But hire us some fair chamber for the night, 
And stalling for the horses, and return 
With victual for these men, and let us know." 

"Yea, my kind lord," said the glad youth, and 
went, 
Held his head high, and thought himself a knight. 
And up the rocky pathway disappear'd, 
Leading the horse, and they were left alone. 

But when the Prince had brought his errant eyes 
Home from the rock, sideways he let them glance 



120 GERAINT AND ENID. 

At Enid, where she droopt : his own false doom, 

That shadow of mistrust should never cross 

Betwixt them, came upon him, and he sigh'd ; 

Then with another humorous ruth remarked 

The lusty mowers labouring dinnerless, 

And watch'd the sun blaze on the turning scythe, 

And after nodded sleepily in the heat. 

But she, remembering her old ruin'd hall, 

And all the windy clamour of the daws 

About her hollow turret, pluck'd the grass 

There growing longest by the meadow's edge, 

And into many a listless annulet, 

Now over, now beneath her marriage ring. 

Wove and unwove it, till the boy returned 

And told them of a chamber, and they went ; 

Where, after saying to her, " If ye will, 

Call for the woman of the house," to which 

She answer'd, " Thanks, my lord ; " the two remained 

Apart by all the chamber's width, and mute 

As creatures voiceless thro' the fault of birth, 

Or two wild men supporters of a shield. 

Painted, who stare at open space, nor glance 

The one at other, parted by the shield. 

On a sudden, many a voice along the street, 
And heel against the pavement echoing, burst 
Their drowse ; and either started while the door, 
Push'd from without, drave backward to the wall, 
And midmost of a rout of roisterers. 
Femininely fair and dissolutely pale, 
Her suitor in old years before Geraint, 



GERAINT AND ENID. 121 

Entered, the wild lord of the place, Limours. 

He moving up with pliant courtliness, 

Greeted Geraint full face, but stealthily, 

In the mid-warmth of welcome and graspt hand, 

Found Enid with the corner of his eye, 

And knew her sitting sad and solitary. 

Then cried Geraint for wine and goodly cheer 

To feed the sudden guest, and sumptuously 

According to his fashion, bad the host 

Call in what men soever were his friends, 

And feast with these in honour of their Earl ; 

" And care not for the cost ; the cost is mine." 

And wine and food were brought, and Earl Li- 
mours 
Drank till he jested with all ease, and told 
Free tales, and took the word and play'd upon it, 
And made it of two colours ; for his talk, 
When wine and free companions kindled him, 
Was wont to glance and sparkle like a gem 
Of fifty facets ; thus he moved the Prince 
To laughter and his comrades to applause. 
Then, when the Prince was merry, ask'd Limours, 
" Your leave, my lord, to cross the room, and speak 
To your good damsel there who sits apart, 
And seems so lonely? " '' My free leave," he said ; 
" Get her to speak : she doth not speak to me." 
Then rose Limours, and looking at his feet, 
Like him who tries the bridge he fears may fail, 
Crost and came near, lifted adoring eyes, 
Bow'd at her side and utter'd whisperingly : 



122 GERAINT AND ENID. 

" Enid, the pilot star of my lone life, 
Enid, my early and my only love, 
Enid, the loss of whom hath turn'd me wild — 
What chance is this ? how is it I see you here ? 
Ye are in my power at last, are in my power. 
Yet fear me not : I call mine own self wild, 
But keep a touch of sweet civility 
Here in the heart of waste and wilderness. 
I thought, but that your father came between, 
In former days /ou saw me favourably. 
And if it were so do not keep it back : 
Make me a little happier : let me know it : 
Owe you me nothing for a life half-lost? 
Yea, yea, the whole dear debt of all you are. 
And, Enid, you and he, I see with joy. 
Ye sit apart, you do not speak to him, 
You come with no attendance, page or maid, 
To serve you — doth he love you as of old .? 
For, call it lovers' quarrels, yet I know 
Tho' men may bicker with the things they love, 
They would not make them laughable in all eyes, 
Not while they loved them ; and your wretched 

dress, 
A wretched insult on you, dumbly speaks 
Your story, that this man loves you no more. 
Your beauty is no beauty to him now : 
A common chance — right well I know it — pall'd — 
For I know men : nor will ye win him back. 
For the man's love once gone never returns. 
But here is one who loves you as of old ; 
With more exceeding passion than of old : 



G ERA INT AND ENID. 123 

Good, speak the word : my followers ring him 

round : 
He sits unarmed ; I hold a finger up ; 
They understand : nay ; I do not mean blood : 
Nor need ye look so scared at what I say : 
My malice is no deeper than a moat, 
No stronger than a wall : there is the keep ; 
He shall not cross us more ; speak but the word : 
Or speak it not; but then by Him that*made me 
The one true lover whom you ever own'd, 
I will make use of all the power I have. 
O pardon me ! the madness of that hour. 
When first I parted from thee, moves me yet." 

At this the tender sound of his own voice 
And sweet self-pity, or the fancy of it, 
Made his eye moist ; but Enid fear'd his eyes, 
Moist as they were, wine-heated from the feast ; 
And answered with such craft as women use, 
Guilty or guiltless, to stave off a chance 
That breaks upon them perilously, and said : 

" Earl, if you love me as in former years, 
And do not practise on me, come with morn. 
And snatch me from him as by violence ; 
Leave me to-night: I am weary to the death.'' 

Low at leave-taking, with his brandished plume 
Brushing his instep, bow'd the all-amorous Earl, 
And the stout Prince bad him a loud good-night. 
He moving homeward babbled to his men, 



124 GERAINT AND ENID. 

How Enid never loved a man but him, 
Nor cared a broken egg-shell for her lord 

But Enid left alone with Prince Geraint, 
Debating his command of silence given, 
And that she now perforce must violate it, 
Held commune with herself, and while she held 
He fell asleep, and Enid had no heart 
To wake him, but hung o'er him, wholly pleased 
To find him yet unwounded after fight. 
And hear him breathing low and equally. 
Anon she rose, and stepping lightly, heap'd 
The pieces of his armour in one place, 
All to be there against a sudden need ; 
Then dozed awhile herself, but overtoil'd 
By that day's grief and travel, evermore 
Seem'd catching at a rootless thorn, and then 
Went slipping down horrible precipices, 
And strongly striking out her limbs awoke ; 
Then thought she heard the wild Earl at the door, 
With all his rout of random followers, 
Sound on a dreadful trumpet, summoning her; 
Which was the red cock shouting to the light, 
As the gray dawn stole o'er the dewy world, 
And glimmer'd on his armour in the room. 
And once again she rose to look at it, 
But touch'd it unawares : jangling, the casque 
Fell, and he started up and stared at her. 
Then breaking his command of silence given, 
She told him all that Earl Limours had said, 
Except the passage that he loved her not ; 



GERAINT AND ENID. 126 

Nor left untold the craft herself had used ; 

But ended with apology so sweet, 

Low-spoken, and of so few words, and seem'd 

So justified by that necessity, 

That tho' he thought " was it for him she wept 

In Devon? " he but gave a wrathful groan, 

Saying, " Your sweet faces make good fellows fools 

And traitors. Call the host and bid him bring 

Charger and palfrey." So she glided out 

Among the heavy breathings of the house, 

And like a household Spirit at the walls 

Beat, till she woke the sleepers, and return^ : 

Then tending her rough lord, tho' all unask'd, 

In silence, did him service as a squire ; 

Till issuing arm'd he found the host and cried, 

"Thy reckoning, friend?" and ere he learnt it, 

" Take 
Five horses and their armours ; " and the host 
Suddenly honest, answered in amaze, 
" My lord, I scarce have spent the worth of one ! " 
" Ye will be all the wealthier," said the Prince, 
And then to Enid, " Forward ! and to-day 
I charge you, Enid, more especially, 
What thing soever ye may hear, or see, 
Or fancy (tho' I count it of small use 
To charge you) that ye speak not but obey." 

And Enid answer'd, " Yea, my lord, I know 
Your wish, and would obey ; but riding first, 
I hear the violent threats you do not hear, 
I see the danger which you cannot see : 



126 GERAINT AND ENID. 

Then not to give you warning, that seems hard ; 
Ahnost beyond me : yet I would obey." 

" Yea so," said he, " do it : be not too wise ; 
Seeing that ye are wedded to a man, 
Not all mismated with a yawning clown. 
But one with arms to guard his head and yours, 
With eyes to find you out however far. 
And ears to hear you even in his dreams." 

With that he turn'd and look'd as keenly at her 
As careful robins eye the delver's toil ; 
And that within her, which a wanton fool, 
Or hasty judger would have call'd her guilt, 
Made her cheek burn and either eyelid fall. 
And Geraint lookM and was not satisfied. 

Then forward by a way which, beaten broad, 
Led from the territory of false Limours 
To the waste earldom of another earl, 
Doorm, whom his shaking vassals calPd the Bull, 
Went Enid with her sullen follower on. 
Once she look'd back, and when she saw him ride 
More near by many a rood than yestermorn, 
It wellnigh made her cheerful ; till Geraint 
Waving an angry hand as who should say 
" Ye watch me," saddened all her heart again. 
But while the sun yet beat a dewy blade, 
The sound of many a heavily-galloping hoof 
Smote on her ear, and turning round she saw 
Dust, and the points of lances bicker in it. 



GERAINT AND ENID. 127 

Then not to disobey her lord's behest, 

And yet to give him warning, for he rode 

As if he heard not, moving back she held 

Her finger up, and pointed to the dust. 

At which the warrior in his obstinacy, 

Because she kept the letter of his word, 

Was in a manner pleased, and turning, stood. 

And in the moment after, wild Limours, 

Borne on a black horse, like a thunder-cloud 

Whose skirts are loosen'd by the breaking storm, 

Half ridden off with by the thing he rode, 

And all in passion uttering a dry shriek, 

Dash'd on Geraint, who closed with him, and 

bore 
Down by the length of lance and arm beyond 
The crupper, and so left him stunnM or dead. 
And overthrew the next that followed him. 
And blindly rush'd on all the rout behind. 
But at the flash and motion of the man 
They vanished panic-stricken, Hke a shoal 
Of darting fish, that on a summer morn 
Adown the crystal dykes at Camelot 
Come slipping o'er their shadows on the sand. 
But if a man who stands upon the brink 
But lift a shining hand against the sun, 
There is not left the twinkle of a fin 
Betwixt the cressy islets white in flower; 
So, scared but at the motion of the man, 
Fled all the boon companions of the Earl, 
And left him lying in the public way; 
So vanish friendships only made in wine. 



128 GERAINT AND ENID. 

Then like a stormy sunlight smiled Geraint, 
Who saw the chargers of the two that fell 
Start from their fallen lords, and wildly fly, • 
Mixt with the flyers. " Horse and man," he 

said, 
" All of one mind and all right-honest friends! 
Not a hoof left : and I methinks till now 
Was honest — paid with horses and with arms ; 
I cannot steal or plunder, no nor beg : 
And so what say ye, shall we strip him there 
Your lover? has your palfrey heart enough 
To bear his armour? shall we fast, or dine? 
No? — then do thou, being right honest, pray 
That we may meet the horsemen of Earl Doorm, 
I too would still be honest." Thus he said : 
And sadly gazing on her bridle-reins, 
And answering not one word, she led the way. 

But as a man to whom a dreadful loss 
Falls in a far land and he knows it not, 
But coming back he learns it, and the loss 
So pains him that he sickens nigh to death ; 
So fared it with Geraint, who being prick'd 
In combat with the follower of Limours, 
Bled underneath his armour secretly. 
And so rode on, nor told his gentle wife 
What ail'd him, hardly knowing it himself, 
Till his eye darkenM and his helmet wagg'd ; 
And at a sudden swerving of the road, 
Tho' happily down on a bank of grass. 
The Prince, without a word, from his horse fell. 



GERAINT AND ENID. 129 

And Enid heard the clashing of his fall, 
Suddenly came, and at his side all pale 
Dismounting, loosed the fastenings of his arms. 
Nor let her true hand falter, nor blue eye 
Moisten, till she had lighted on his wound, 
And tearing off her veil of faded silk 
Had bared her forehead to the blistering sun, 
And swathed the hurt that drained her dear lord's 

life. 
Then after all was done that hand could do, 
She rested, and her desolation came 
Upon her, and she wept beside the way. 

And many past, but none regarded her, 
For in that realm of lawless turbulence, 
A woman weeping for her murder'd mate 
Was cared as much for as a summer shower : 
One took him for a victim of Earl Doorm, 
Nor dared to waste a perilous pity on him : 
Another hurrying past, a man-at-arms. 
Rode on a mission to the bandit Earl ; 
Half whistling and half singing a coarse song, 
He drove the dust against her veilless eyes : 
Another, flying from the wrath of Doorm 
Before an ever-fancied arrow, made 
The long way smoke beneath him in his fear ; 
At which her palfrey whinnying lifted heel, 
And scour'd into the coppices and was lost, 
While the great charger stood, grieved like a man. 

But at the point of noon the huge Earl Doorm, 
Broad-faced with under-fringe of russet beard, 



130 GERAINT AND ENID. 

Bound on a foray, rolling eyes of prey, 
Came riding with a hundred lances up ; 
But ere he came, like one that hails a ship, 
Cried out with a big voice, " What, is he dead? " 
" No, no, not dead ! " she answer^ in all haste. 
" Would some of your kind people take him up. 
And bear him hence out of this cruel sun? 
Most sure am I, quite sure, he is not dead." 

Then said Earl Doorm : "Well, if he be not dead, 
Why wail ye for him thus? ye seem a child. 
And be he dead, I count you for a fool ; 
Your wailing will not quicken him : dead or not, 
Ye mar a comely face with idiot tears. 
Yet, since the face is comely — some of you, 
Here, take him up, and bear him to our hall : 
And if he live, we will have him of our band ; 
And if he die, why earth has earth enough 
To hide him. See ye take the charger too, 
A noble one." 

He spake, and past away, 
But left two brawny spearmen, who advanced. 
Each growling like a dog, when his good bone 
Seems to be pluck'd at by the village boys 
Who love to vex him eating, and he fears 
To lose his bone, and lays his foot upon it, 
Gnawing and growling : so the ruffians growl'd, 
tearing to lose, and all for a dead man. 
Their chance of booty from the morning's raid. 
Yet raised and laid him on a litter-bier. 
Such as they brought upon their forays out 



GERAINT AND ENID. 131 

For those that might be wounded ; laid him on it 
All in the hollow of his shield, and took 
And bore him to the naked hall of Doorm, 
(His gentle charger following him unled) 
And cast him and the bier in which he lay 
Down on an oaken settle in the hall, 
And then departed, hot in haste to join 
Their luckier mates, but growling as before, 
And cursing their lost time, and the dead man, 
And their own Earl, and their own souls, and her. 
They might as well have blest her : she was deaf 
To blessing or to cursing save from one. 

So for long hours sat Enid by her lord, 
There in the naked hall, propping his head, 
And chafing his pale hands, and calling to him. 
Till at the last he waken'd from his swoon, 
And found his own dear bride propping his head, 
And chafing his faint hands, and calling to him ; 
And felt the warm tears falling on his face ; 
And said to his own heart, " She weeps for me : " 
And yet lay still, and feign'd himself as dead 
That he might prove her to the uttermost. 
And say to his own heart, " She weeps for me." 

But in the falling afternoon return'd 
The huge Earl Doorm with plunder to the hall. 
His lusty spearmen followed him with noise : 
Each hurling down a heap of things that rang 
Against the pavement, cast his lance aside, 
And dofF'd his helm : and then there fluttered in. 



132 GERAINT AND ENID. 

Half-bold, half-frighted, with dilated eyes, 
A tribe of women, dressM in many hues, 
And mingled with the spearmen : and Earl Doorm 
Struck with a knife's haft hard against the board, 
And caird for flesh and wine to feed his spears. 
And men brought in whole hogs and quarter beeves, 
'^nd all the hall was dim with steam of flesh : 
And none spake word, but all sat down at once, 
And ate with tumult in the naked hall. 
Feeding like horses when you hear them feed ; 
Till Enid shrank far back into herself, 
To shun the wild ways of the lawless tribe. 
But when Earl Doorm had eaten all he would. 
He roird his eyes about the hall, and found 
A damsel drooping in a corner of it. 
Then he remember'd her, and how she wept ; 
And out of her there came a power upon him ; 
And rising on the sudden he said, " Eat ! 
I never yet beheld a thing so pale. 
God's curse, it makes me mad to see you weep. 
Eat ! Look yourself. Good luck had your good 

man, 
For were I dead who is it would weep for me ? 
Sweet lady, never since I first drew breath 
Have I beheld a lily like yourself. 
And so there lived some colour in your cheek. 
There is not one among my gentlewomen 
Were fit to wear your slipper for a glove. 
But listen to me, and by me be ruled, 
And I will do the thing I have not done, 
For ye shall share my earldom with me, girl, 



GERAINT AND ENID. 133 

And we will live like two birds in one nest, 
And I will fetch you forage from all fields, 
For I compel all creatures to my will." 

He spoke : the brawny spearman let his cheek 
Bulge with the unswallow'd piece, and turning 

stared ; 
While some, whose souls the old serpent long had 

drawn 
Down, as the worm draws in the withered leaf 
And makes it earth, hiss'd each at other's ear 
What shall not be recorded — women they. 
Women, or what had been those gracious things, 
But now desired the humbling of their best. 
Yea, would have help'd him to it : and all at once 
They hated her, who took no thought of them, 
But answer'd in low voice, her meek head yet 
Drooping, " I pray you of your courtesy, 
He being as he is, to let me be," 

She spake so low he hardly heard her speak, 
But like a mighty patron, satisfied 
With what himself had done so graciously, 
Assumed that she had thank'd him, adding, " Yea, 
Eat and be glad, for I account you mine." 

She answer'd meekly, " How should I be glad 
Henceforth in all the world at anything, 
Until my lord arise and look upon me ? " 

Here the huge Earl cried out upon her talk, 
As all but empty heart and weariness 



134 GERAINT AND ENID. 

And sickly nothing ; suddenly seized on her, 
And bare her by main violence to the board, 
And thrust the dish before her, crying, " Eat." 

" No, no,'' said Enid, vext, " I will not eat 
Till yonder man upon the bier arise, 
And eat with me." " Drink, then," he answer'd. 

"Here!" 
(And fiird a horn with wine and held it to her,) 
" Lo ! I, myself, when flushed with fight, or hot, 
God's curse, with anger — often I myself. 
Before I well have drunken, scarce can eat : 
Drink therefore and the wine will change your will." 

"Not so," she cried, "by Heaven, I will not 
drink 
Till my dear lord arise and bid me do it, 
And drink with me ; and if he rise no more, 
I will not look at wine until I die." 

At this he turn'd all red and paced his hall, 
Now gnaw'd his under, now his upper lip, 
And coming up close to her, said at last: 
" Girl, for I see ye scorn my courtesies. 
Take warning : yonder man is surely dead ; 
And I compel all creatures to my will. 
Not eat nor drink ? And wherefore wail for one, 
Who put your beauty to this flout and scorn ' 
By dressing it in rags ? Amazed am I, 
Beholding how ye butt against my wish, 
That I forbear you thus : cross me no more. 



GERAINT AND ENID. 135 

At least put off to please me this poor gown, 
This silken rag, this beggar-woman's weed : 
I love that beauty should go beautifully : 
For see ye not my gentlewomen here, 
How gay, how suited to the house of one 
Who loves that beauty should go beautifully ? 
Rise therefore ; robe yourself in this : obey." 

He spoke, and one among his gentlewomen 
Display'd a splendid silk of foreign loom. 
Where like a shoaling sea the lovely blue 
Play'd into green, and thicker down the front 
With jewels than the sward with drops of dew, 
When all night long a cloud clings to the hill. 
And with the dawn ascending lets the day 
Strike where it clung : so thickly shone the gems. 

But Enid answered, harder to be moved 
Than hardest tyrants in their day of power, 
With life-long injuries burning unavenged, 
And now their hour has come ; and Enid said : 

" In this poor gown my dear lord found me first 
And loved me serving in my father's hall : 
In this poor gown I rode with him to court, 
And there the Queen array'd me like the sun : 
In this poor gown he bad me clothe myself. 
When now we rode upon this fatal quest 
Of honour, where no honour can be gained : 
And this poor gown I will not cast aside 
Until himself arise a living man, 



136 GERAINT AND ENID. 

And bid me cast it. I have griefs enough : 
Pray you be gentle, pray you let me be : 
I never loved, can never love but him : 
Yea, God, I pray you of your gentleness, 
He being as he is, to let me be." 

Then strode the brute Earl up and down his hall, 
And took his russet beard between his teeth ; 
Last, coming up quite close, and in his mood 
Crying, " I count it of no more avail. 
Dame, to be gentle than ungentle with you ; 
Take my salute," unknightly with flat hand, 
However lightly, smote her on the cheek. 

Then Enid, in her utter helplessness, 
And since she thought, " He had not dared to do it, 
Except he surely knew my lord was dead," 
Sent forth a sudden sharp and bitter cry, 
As of a wild thing taken in the trap. 
Which sees the trapper coming thro' the wood. 

This heard Geraint, and grasping at his sword, 
(It lay beside him in the hollow shield). 
Made but a single bound, and with a sweep of it 
Shore thro' the swarthy neck, and like a ball 
The russet-bearded head roll'd on the floor. 
So died Earl Doorm by him he counted dead. 
And all the men and women in the hall 
Rose when they saw the dead man rise, and fled 
Yelling as from a spectre, and the two 
Were left alone together, and he said : 



GERAINT AND ENID. 137 

" Enid, I have used you worse than that dead 
man ; 
Done you more wrong : we both have undergone 
That trouble which has left me thrice your own : 
Henceforward I will rather die than doubt. 
And here I lay this penance on myself, 
Not, tho' mine own ears heard you yestermorn — 
You thought me sleeping, but I heard you say, 
I heard you say, that you were no true wife : 
I swear I will not ask your meaning in it : 
I do believe yourself against yourself. 
And will henceforward rather die than doubt." 

And Enid could not say one tender word, 
She felt so blunt and stupid at the heart : 
She only pray'd him, " Fly, they will return 
And slay you ; fly, your charger is without. 
My palfrey lost." " Then, Enid, shall you ride 
Behind me." " Yea," said Enid, " let us go." 
And moving out they found the stately horse, 
Who now no more a vassal to the thief, 
But free to stretch his limbs in lawful fight, 
Neigh'd with all gladness as they came, and stoop'd 
With a low whinny toward the pair : and she 
Kiss'd the white star upon his noble front, 
Glad also ; then Geraint upon the horse 
Mounted, and reach'd a hand, and on his foot 
She set her own and climb'd ; he turn'd his 

face 
And kiss'd her climbing, and she cast her arms 
About him, and at once they rode away. 



138 GERAINT AND ENID. 

And never yet, since high in Paradise 
Cer the four rivers the first roses blew. 
Came purer pleasure unto mortal kind 
Than lived thro' her, who in that perilous hour 
Put hand to hand beneath her husband's heart, 
And felt him hers again : she did not weep. 
But o'er her meek eyes came a happy mist 
Like that which kept the heart of Eden green 
Before the useful trouble of the rain : 
Yet not so misty were her meek blue eyes 
As not to see before them on the path, 
Right in the gateway of the bandit hold, 
A knight of Arthur's court, who laid his lance 
In rest, and made as if to fall upon him. 
Then, fearing for his hurt and loss of blood, 
She, with her mind all full of what had chanced, 
Shriek'd to the stranger " Slay not a dead man ! " 
" The voice of Enid," said the knight ; but she, 
Beholding it was Edyrn son of Nudd, 
Was moved so much the more, and shriek'd again, 
" O cousin, slay not him who gave you life." 
And Edyrn moving frankly forward spake : 
" My lord Geraint, I greet you with all love ; 
I took you for a bandit knight of Doorm ; 
And fear not, Enid, I should fall upon him, 
Who love you, Prince, with something of the love 
Wherewith we love the Heaven that chastens us. 
For once, when I was up so high in pride 
That I was halfway down the slope to Hell, 
By overthrowing me you threw me higher. 
Now, made a knight of Arthur's Table Round 



G ERA INT AND ENID. 139 

And since I knew this Earl, when I myself 
Was half a bandit in my lawless hour, 
I come the mouthpiece of our King to Doorm 
(The King is close behind me) bidding him 
Disband himself, and scatter all his powers, 
Submit, and hear the judgment of the King." 

" He hears the judgment of the King of kings," 
Cried the wan Prince; "and lo, the powers of 

Doorm 
Are scattered," and he pointed to the field, 
Where, huddled here and there on mound and 

knoll, 
Were men and women staring and aghast, 
While some yet fled ; and then he plainlier told 
How the huge Earl lay slain within his hall. 
But when the knight besought him, " Follow me, 
Prince, to the camp, and in the King's own ear 
Speak what has chanced ; ye surely have endured 
Strange chances here alone ; ■' that other flushed 
And hung his head, and halted in reply. 
Fearing the mild face of the blameless King, 
And after madness acted question ask'd : 
Till Edyrn crying, "If ye will not go 
To Arthur, then will Arthur come to you," 
"Enough," he said, " I follow," and they went. 
But Enid in their going had two fears. 
One from the bandit scattered in the field, 
And one from Edyrn. Every now and then, 
When Edyrn rein'd his charger at her side. 
She shrank a little. In a hollow land, 



140 GERAINT AND ENID. 

From which old fires have broken, men may fear 
Fresh fire and ruin. He, perceiving, said : 

" Fair and dear cousin, you that most had cause 
To fear me, fear no longer, I am changed. 
Yourself were first the blameless cause to make 
My nature's prideful sparkle in the blood 
Break into furious flame ; being repulsed 
By Yniol and yourself, I schemed and wrought 
Until I overturned him ; then set up 
(With one main purpose ever at my heart) 
My haughty jousts, and took a paramour ; 
Did her mock-honour as the fairest fair, 
And, toppling over all antagonism, 
So wax'd in pride, that I believed myself 
Unconquerable, for I was wellnigh mad : 
And, but for my main purpose in these jousts, 
I should have slain your father, seized yourself. 
I lived in hope that sometime you would come 
To these my lists with him whom best you loved ; 
And there, poor cousin, with your meek blue eyes. 
The truest eyes that ever answered Heaven, 
Behold me overturn and trample on him. 
Then, had you cried, or knelt, or pray'd to me, 
I should not less have kilPd him. And you came, — 
But once you came, — and with your own true eyes 
Beheld the man you loved (I speak as one 
Speaks of a service done him) overthrow 
My proud self, and my purpose three years old, 
And set his foot upon me, and give me life. ' 
There was I broken down ; there was I saved : 



GERAINT AND ENID. 141 

Tho' thence I rode all-shamed, hating the life 

He gave me, meaning lo be rid of it. 

And all the penance the Queen laid upon me 

Was but to rest awhile within her court ; 

Where first as sullen as a beast new-caged, 

And waiting to be treated like a wolf. 

Because I knew my deeds were known, I found, 

Instead of scornful pity or pure scorn, 

Such fine reserve and noble reticence, 

Manners so kind, yet stately, such a grace 

Of tenderest courtesy, that I began 

To glance behind me at my former life, 

And find that it had been the wolf's indeed : 

And oft I talk'd with Dubric, the high saint, 

Who, with mild heat of holy oratory, 

Subdued me somewhat to that gentleness, 

Which, when it weds with manhood, makes a man. 

And you were often there about the Queen, 

But saw me not, or mark'd not if you saw ; 

Nor did I care or dare to speak with you, 

But kept myself aloof till I was changed ; 

And fear not, cousin ; I am changed indeed." 

He spoke, and Enid easily believed, 
Like simple noble natures, credulous 
Of what they long for, good in friend or foe, 
There most in those who most have done them ill. 
And when they reached the camp the King him.self 
Advanced to greet them, and beholding her 
Tho' pale, yet happy, ask'd her not a word. 
But went apart with Edyrn, whom he held 



142 GERAINT AND ENID. 

In converse for a little, and return'd, 
And, gravely smiling, lifted her from horse, 
And kiss'd her with all pureness, brother-like, 
And show'd an empty tent allotted her. 
And glancing for a minute, till he saw her 
Pass into it, turn'd to the Prince, and said : 

" Prince, when of late ye pray'd me for my leave 
To move to your own land, and there defend 
Your marches, I was prick'd with some reproof, 
As one that let foul wrong stagnate and be. 
By having looked too much thro' alien eyes. 
And wrought too long with delegated hands. 
Not used mine own : but now behold me come 
To cleanse this common sewer of all my realm^ 
With Edyrn and with others : have ye lookM 
At Edyrn ? have ye seen how nobly changed ? 
This work of his is great and wonderful. 
His very face with change of heart is changed. 
The world will not believe a man repents : 
And this wise world of ours is mainly right. 
Full seldom doth a man repent, or use 
Both grace and will to pick the vicious quitch 
Of blood and custom wholly out of him, 
And make all clean, and plant himself afresh. 
Edyrn has done it, weeding all his heart 
As I will weed this land before I go. 
I, therefore, made him of our Table Round, 
Not rashly, but have proved him everyway 
One of our noblest, our most valorous. 
Sanest and most obedient : and indeed 



GERAINT AND ENID. 143 

This work of Edyrn wrought upon himself 
After a life of violence, seems to me 
A thousand-fold more great and wonderful 
Than if some knight of mine, risking his life. 
My subject with my subjects under him, 
Should make an onslaught single on a realm 
Of robbers, tho' he slew them one by one, 
And were himself nigh wounded to the death.'" 

So spake the King ; low bow'd the Prince, and 
felt 
His work was neither great nor wonderful, 
And past to Enid's tent ; and thither came 
The King's own leech to look into his hurt ; 
And Enid tended on him there ; and there 
Her constant motion round him, and the breath 
Of her sweet tendance hovering over him, 
Fiird all the genial courses of his blood 
With deeper and with ever deeper love, 
As the south-west that blowing Bala lake 
Fills all the sacred Dee. So past the days. 

But while Geraint lay healing of his hurt, 
The blameless King went forth and cast his 

eyes 
On each of all whom Uther left in charge 
Long since, to guard the justice of the King; 
He look'd and found them wanting ; and as now 
Men weed the white horse on the Berkshire hills 
To keep him bright and clean as heretofore, 
He rooted out the slothful officer 



144 GERAINT AND ENID. 

Or guilty, which for bribe had wink'd at wrong, 

And in their chairs set up a stronger race 

With hearts and hands, and sent a thousand men 

To till the wastes, and moving everywhere 

Cleared the dark places and let in the law, 

And broke the bandit holds and cleansed the land. 

Then, when Geraint was whole again, they past 
With Arthur to Caerleon upon Usk. 
There the great Queen once more embraced her 

friend. 
And clothed her in apparel like the day. 
And tho' Geraint could never take again 
That comfort from their converse which he took 
Before the Queen's fair name was breathed upon, 
He rested well content that all was well. 
Thence after tarrying for a space they rode. 
And fifty knights rode with them to the shores 
Of Severn, and they past to their own land. 
And there he kept the justice of the King 
So vigorously yet mildly, that all hearts 
Applauded, and the spiteful whisper died : 
And being ever foremost in the chase. 
And victor at the tilt and tournament, 
They calPd him the great Prince and man of 

men. 
But Enid, whom the ladies loved to call 
Enid the Fair, a grateful people named 
Enid the Good ; and in their halls arose 
The cry of children, Enids and Geraints 
Of times to be ; nor did he doubt her more. 



G ERA I NT AND ENID. 14: 

But rested in her fealty, till he crown'd 
A happy life with a fair death, and fell 
Against the heathen of the Northern Sea 
In battle, fighting for the blameless King. 



146 MERLIN AND VIVIEN, 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

A STORM was coming, but the winds were still, 
And in the wild woods of Broceliande, 
Before an oak, so hollow, huge and old 
It lookM a tower of ruinM masonwork, 
At Merlin's feet the wily Vivien lay. 

Whence came she? One that bare in bitter 

grudge 
The scorn of Arthur and his Table, Mark 
The Cornish King, had heard a wandering voice, 
A minstrel of Caerleon by strong storm 
Blown into shelter at Tintagil, say 
That out of naked knightlike purity 
Sir Lancelot worshipt no unmarried girl 
But the great Queen herself, fought in her name, 
Sware by her — vows like theirs, that high in 

heaven 
Love most, but neither marry, nor are given 
In marriage, angels of our Lord's report. 

He ceased, and then — for Vivien sweetly said 
(She sat beside the banquet nearest Mark), 
" And is the fair example followed, Sir, 
In Arthur's household.'' " — answer'd innocently : 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 147 

" Ay, by some few — ay, truly — youths that hold 
It more beseems the perfect virgin knight 
To worship woman as true wife beyond 
All hopes of gaining, than as maiden girl. 
They place their pride in Lancelot and the Queen. 
So passionate for an utter purity 
Beyond the limit of their bond, are these, 
For Arthur bound them not to singleness. 
Brave hearts and clean ! and yet — God guide them 
— young." 

Then Mark was half in heart to hurl his cup 
Straight at the speaker, but forebore : he rose 
To leave the hall, and, Vivien following him. 
Turned to her : " Here are snakes within the grass ; 
And you methinks, O Vivien, save ye fear 
The monkish manhood, and the mask of pure 
Worn by this court, can stir them till they sting." 

And Vivien answered, smiling scornfully, 
" Why fear? because that foster'd at thy court 
I savour of thy — virtues? fear them? no. 
As Love, if Love be perfect, casts out fear, 
So Hate, if Hate be perfect, casts out fear. 
My father died in battle against the King, 
My mother on his corpse in open field ; 
She bore me there, for born from death was I 
Among the dead and sown upon the wind — 
And then on thee ! and shown the truth betimes. 
That old true filth, and bottom of the well. 
Where Truth is hidden. Gracious lessons thine 



148 MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

And maxims of the mud ! ' This Arthur pure ! 
Great Nature thro' the flesh herself hath made 
Gives him the lie ! There is no being pure, 
My cherub ; saith not Holy Writ the same ? ' — 
If I were Arthur, I would have thy blood. 
Thy blessing, stainless King ! I bring thee back, 
When I have ferreted out their burrowings, 
The hearts of all this Order in mine hand — 
Ay — so that fate and craft and folly close, 
Perchance, one curl of Arthur's golden beard. 
To me this narrow grizzled fork of thine 
Is cleaner-fashion'd — Well, I loved thee first, 
That warps the wit." 

Loud laugh'd the graceless Mark. 
But Vivien, into Camelot stealing, lodged 
Low in the city, and on a festal day 
When Guinevere was crossing the great hall 
Cast herself down, knelt to the Queen, and waiPd. 

"Why kneel ye there? What evil have ye 

wrought ? 
Rise ! " and the damsel bidden rise arose 
And stood with folded hands and downward 

eyes 
Of glancing corner, and all meekly said, 
"None wrought, but suflfer'd much, an orphan 

maid ! 
My father died in battle for thy King, 
My mother on his corpse — in open field. 
The sad sea-sounding wastes of Lyonesse — 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 149 

Poor wretch — no friend ! — and now by Mark the 

King 
For that small charm of feature mine, pursued — 
If any such be mine — I fly to thee. 
Save, save me thou — Woman of women — thine 
The wreath of beauty, thine the crown of power, 
Be thine the balm of pity, O Heaven's own white 
Earth-angel, stainless bride of stainless King — 
Help, for he follows ! take me to thyself! 

yield me shelter for mine innocency 
Among thy maidens ! " 

Here her slow sweet eyes 
Fear- tremulous, but humbly hopeful, rose 
Fixt on her hearer's, while the Queen who stood 
All glittering like May sunshine on May leaves 
In green and gold, and plumed with green replied, 
" Peace, child ! of overpraise and overblame 
We choose the last. Our noble Arthur, him 
Ye scarce can overpraise, will hear and know. 
Nay — we believe all evil of thy Mark — 
Well, we shall test thee farther ; but this hour 
We ride a-hawking with Sir Lancelot. 
He hath given us a fair falcon which he trained ; 
We go to prove it. Bide ye here the while." 

She past ; and Vivien murmur'd after " Go ! 

1 bide the while." Then thro' the portal-arch 
Peering askance, and muttering broken-wise, 
As one that labours with an evil dream, 
Beheld the Queen and Lancelot get to horse. 



150 MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

" Is that the Lancelot ? goodly — ay, but gaunt: 
Courteous — amends for gauntness — takes her 

hand — 
That glance of theirs, but for the street, had been 
A clinging kiss — how hand hngers in hand ! 
Let go at last ! — they ride away — to hawk 
For waterfowl. Royaller game is mine. 
For such a supersensual sensual bond 
As that gray cricket chirpt of at our hearth — 
Touch flax with flame — a glance will serve — the 

liars ! 
Ah little rat that borest in the dyke 
Thy hole .by night to let the boundless deep 
Down upon far-off" cities while they dance — 
Or dream — of thee they dream'd not — nor of me 
These — ay, but each of either : ride, and dream 
The mortal dream that never yet was mine — 
Ride, ride and dream until ye wake — to me! 
Then, narrow court and lubber King, farewell ! 
For Lancelot will be gracious to the rat. 
And our wise Queen, if knowing that I know, 
Will hate, loathe, fear — but honour me the more." 

Yet while they rode together down the plain, 
Their talk was all of training, terms of art, 
Diet and seeling, jesses, leash and lure. 
" She is too noble " he said " to check at pies, 
Nor will she rake : there is no baseness in her." 
Here when the Queen demanded as by chance 
" Know ye the stranger woman? " " Let her be," 
Said Lancelot and unhooded casting off 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 151 

The goodly falcon free ; she tower'd ; her bells, 
Tone under tone, shrill'd ; and they lifted up 
Their eager faces, wondering at the strength, 
Boldness and royal knighthood of the bird 
Who pounced her quarry and slew it. Many a 

time 
As once — of old — among the flowers — they rode. 

But Vivien half-forgotten of the Queen 
Among her damsels broidering sat, heard, watch'd 
And whisperM : thro'' the peaceful court she crept 
And whisper'd : then as Arthur in the highest 
Leaven'd the world, so Vivien in the lowest, 
Arriving at a time of golden rest, 
And sowing one ill hint from ear to ear. 
While all the heathen lay at Arthur's feet, 
And no quest came, but all was joust and play, 
Leaven'd his hall. They heard and let her be. 

Thereafter as an enemy that has left 
Death in the living waters, and withdrawn, 
The wily Vivien stole from Arthur's court. 

She hated all the knights, and heard in thought 
Their lavish comment when her name was named. 
For once, when Arthur walking all alone, 
Vext at a rumour issued from herself 
Of some corruption crept among his knights, 
Had met her, Vivien, being greeted fair. 
Would fain have wrought upon his cloudy mood 
With reverent eyes mock-loyal, shaken voice, 



152 MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

And flutterM adoration, and at last 

With dark sweet hints of some who prized him more 

Than who should prize him most ; at which the King 

Had gazed upon her blankly and gone by : 

But one had watchM, and had not held his peace : 

It made the laughter of an afternoon 

That Vivien should attempt the blameless King. 

And after that, she set herself to gain 

Him, the most famous man of all those times, 

Merlin, who knew the range of all their arts, 

Had built the King his havens, ships, and halls, 

Was also Bard, and knew the starry heavens ; 

The people calPd him Wizard ; whom at first 

She play'd about with slight and sprightly talk, 

And vivid smiles, and faintly-venom'd points 

Of slander, glancing here and grazing there ; 

And yielding to his kindlier moods, the Seer 

Would watch her at her petulance, and play, 

Ev'n when they seem'd unloveable, and laugh 

As those that watch a kitten ; thus he grew 

Tolerant of what he half disdainM, and she, 

Perceiving that she was but half disdained, 

Began to break her sports with graver fits, 

Turn red or pale, would often when they met 

Sigh fully, or all-silent gaze upon him 

With such a fixt devotion, that the old man, 

Tho' doubtful, felt the flattery, and at times 

Would flatter his own wish in age for love, 

And half believe her true : for thus at times 

He waver'd ; but that other clung to him, 

Fixt in her will, and so the seasons went. 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 153 

Then fell on Merlin a great melancholy ; 
He walk'd with dreams and darkness, and he found 
A doom that ever poised itself to fall, 
An ever-moaning battle in the mist. 
World-war of dying flesh against the life, 
Death in all life and lying in all love, 
The meanest having power upon the highest, 
And the high purpose broken by the worm. 

So leaving Arthur's court he gain'd the beach ; 
There found a little boat, and stept into it ; 
And Vivien followed, but he mark'd her not. 
She took the helm and he the sail ; the boat 
Drave with a sudden wind across the deeps. 
And touching Breton sands, they disembarked. 
And then she follow'd Merlin all the way, 
Ev'n to the wild woods of Broceliande. 
For Merlin once had told her of a charm, 
The which if any wrought on anyone 
With woven paces and with waving arms. 
The man so wrought on ever seem'd to lie 
Closed in the four walls of a hollow tower, 
From which was no escape for evermore ; 
And none could find that man for evermore, 
Nor could he see but him who wrought the charm 
Coming and going, and he lay as dead 
And lost to life and use and name and fame. 
And Vivien ever sought to work the charm 
Upon the great Enchanter of the Time, 
As fancying that her glory would be great 
According to his greatness whom she quench'd. 



154 MERLIN AND VIVIEN 

7'here lay she all her length and kiss'd his feet, 
A': if in deepest reverence and in love. 
A twist of gold was round her hair ; a robe 
Of samite without price, that more exprest 
Than hid her, clung about her lissome limbs, 
In colour like the satin-shining palm 
On sallows in the windy gleams of March : 
And while she kiss'd them, crying, " Trample me^, 
Dear feet, that I have followed thro' the world, 
And I will pay you worship ; tread me down 
And I will kiss you for it ; " he was mute : 
So dark a forethought rolPd about his brain, 
As on a dull day in an Ocean cave 
The blind wave feeling round his long sea-hall 
In silence : wherefore, when she lifted up 
A face of sad appeal, and spake and said, 
" O Merlin, do ye love me?" and again, 
" O Merlin, do ye love me? " and once more, 
" Great master, do ye love me? " he was mute. 
And lissome Vivien, holding by his heel, 
Writhed toward him, slided up his knee and sat, 
Behind his ankle twined her hollow feet 
Together, curved an arm about his neck, 
Clung like a snake ; and letting her left hand 
Droop from his mighty shoulder, as a leaf, 
Made with her right a comb of pearl to part 
The lists of such a beard as youth gone out 
Had left in ashes : then he spoke and said. 
Not looking at her, " Who are wise in love 
Love most, say least," and Vivien answer'd quick, 
" I saw the little elf-god eyeless once 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN 155 

In Arthur's arras hall at Camelot : 

But neither eyes nor tongue — O stupid child ! 

Yet you are wise who say it ; let me think 

Silence is wisdom : I am silent then, 

And ask no kiss ; " then adding all at once, 

" And lo, I clothe myself with wisdom/' drew 

The vast and shaggy mantle of his beard 

Across her neck and bosom to her knee, 

And caird herself a gilded summer fly 

Caught in a great old tyrant spider's web, 

Who meant to eat her up in that wild wood 

Without one word. So Vivien call'd herself, 

But rather seem'd a lovely baleful star 

Veil'd in gray vapour ; till he sadly smiled : 

" To what request for what strange boon," he said 

"Are these your pretty tricks and fooleries, 

Vivien, the preamble ? yet my thanks. 
For these have broken up my melancholy." 

And Vivien answer'd smiling saucily, 
"What, O my Master, have ye found your voice? 

1 bid the stranger welcome. Thanks at last ! 
But yesterday you never open'd lip, 
Except indeed to drink : no cup had we : 

In mine own lady palms I cull'd the spring 
That gather'd trickling dropwise from the cleft, 
And made a pretty cup of both my hands 
And offer'd you it kneeling : then you drank 
And knew no more, nor gave me one poor word ; 
O no more thanks than might a goat have given 
With no more sign of reverence than a beard. 



156 MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

And when we halted at that other well, 
And I was faint to swooning, and you lay 
Foot-gilt with all the blossom-dust of those 
Deep meadows we had traversed, did you know 
That Vivien bathed your feet before her own? 
And yet no thanks : and all thro' this wild wood 
And all this morning when I fondled you : 
Boon, ay, there was a boon, one not so strange — 
How had I wrong'd you? surely ye are wise. 
But such a silence is more wise than kind.'" 

And Merlin lock'd his hand in hers and said : 
" O did ye never lie upon the shore. 
And watch the curPd white of the coming wave 
Glass'd in the slippery sand before it breaks? 
Ev'n such a wave, but not so pleasurable, 
Dark in the glass of some presageful mood, 
Had I for three days seen, ready to fall. 
And then I rose and fled from Arthur's court 
To break the mood. You followed me unask'd ; 
And when I looked, and saw you following still, 
My mind involved yourself the nearest thing 
In that mind-mist: for shall I tell you truth? 
You seem'd that wave about to break upon me 
And sweep me from my hold upon the world, 
My use and name and fame. Your pardon, 

child. 
Your pretty sports have brighten'd all again. 
And ask your boon, for boon I owe you thrice, 
Once for wrong done you by confusion, next 
For thanks it seems till now neglected, last 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN 157 

For these your dainty gambols : wherefore ask ; 
And take this boon so strange and not so strange." 

And Vivien answer'd smiling mournfully : 
" O not so strange as m.y long asking it, 
Not yet so strange as you yourself are strange, 
Nor half so strange as that dark mood of yours. 
I ever fear'd ye were not wholly mine ; 
And see, yourself have own'd ye did me wrong. 
The people call you prophet : let it be : 
But not of those that can expound themselves. 
Take Vivien for expounder ; she will call 
That three-days-long presageful gloom of yours 
No presage, but the same mistrustful mood 
That makes you seem less noble than yourself, 
Whenever I have askM this very boon, 
Now ask'd again : for see you not, dear love, 
That such a mood as that, which lately gloom'd 
Your fancy when ye saw me following you. 
Must make me fear still more you are not mine. 
Must make me yearn still more to prove you mine, 
And make me wish still more to learn this charm 
Of woven paces and of waving hands, 
As proof of trust. O Merlin, teach it me. 
The charm so taught will charm us both to rest. 
For, grant me some slight power upon your fate, 
I, feeling that you felt me worthy trust, 
Should rest and let you rest, knowing you mine. 
And therefore be as great as ye are named, 
Not muffled round with selfish reticence. 
How hard you look and how denyingly ! 



158 MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

O, if you think tliis wickedness in me, 
That I should prove it on you unawares, 
That makes me passing wrathful ; then our bond 
Had best be loosed for ever : but think or not, 
By Heaven that hears I tell you the clean truth, 
As clean as blood of babes, as white as milk: 

Merlin, may this earth, if ever I, 

If these unwitty wandering wits of mine, 
Ev'n in the jumbled rubbish of a dream, 
Have tript on such conjectural treachery — 
May this hard earth cleave to the Nadir hell 
Down, down, and close again, and nip me flat, 
If I be such a traitress. Yield my boon, 
Till which I scarce can yield you all I am ; 
And grant my re-reiterated wish. 
The great proof of your love : because I think, 
However wise, ye hardly know me yet." 

And Merlin loosed his hand from hers and said, 
*' I never was less wise, however wise. 
Too curious Vivien, tho' you talk of trust. 
Than when I told you first of such a charm. 
Yea, if ye talk of trust I tell you this. 
Too much I trusted when I told you that. 
And stirrM this vice in you which ruin'd man 
Thro' woman the first hour ; for howsoever 
In children a great curiousness be well, 
Who have to learn themselves and all the world, 
In you, that are no child, for still I find 
Your face is practised when I spell the lines, 

1 call it, — well, I will not call it vice: 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 159 

But since you name yourself the summer fly, 
I well could wish a cobweb for the gnat, 
That settles, beaten back, and beaten back 
Settles, till one could yield for weariness : 
But since I will not yield to give you power 
Upon my life and use and name and fame, 
Why will ye never ask some other boon ? 
Yea, by God's rood, I trusted you too much." 

And Vivien, like the tenderest-hearted maid 
That ever bided tryst at village stile, 
Made answer, either eyelid wet with tears : 
" Nay, Master, be not wrathful with your maid ; 
Caress her : let her feel herself forgiven 
Who feels no heart to ask another boon. 
I think ye hardly know the tender rhyme 
Of ' trust me not at all or all in all.' 
I heard the great Sir Lancelot sing it once, 
And it shall answer for me. Listen to it. 

' In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours, 
Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers : 
Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all. 

' It is the little rift within the lute. 
That by and by will make the music mute, 
And ever widening slowly silence all. 

'The little rift within the lover's lute 
Or little pitted speck in garnered fruit. 
That rotting inward slowly moulders all. 



160 MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

' It is not worth the keeping : let it go : 
But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no. 
And trust me not at all or all in all.' 

O Master, do ye love my tender rhyme ? " 

And Merlin look'd and half believed her true, 
So tender was her voice, so fair her face, 
So sweetly gleam'd her eyes behind her tears 
Like sunlight on the plain behind a shower : 
And yet he answer'd half indignantly : 

"Far other was the song that once I heard 
By this huge oak, sung nearly where we sit : 
For here we met, some ten or twelve of us, 
To chase a creature that was current then 
In these wild woods, the hart with golden horns. 
It was the time when first the question rose 
About the founding of a Table Round, 
That was to be, for love of God and men 
And noble deeds, the flower of all the world. 
And each incited each to noble deeds. 
And while we waited, one, the youngest of us, 
We could not keep him silent, out he flashed, 
And into such a song, such fire for fame, 
Such trumpet-blowings in it, coming down 
To such a stern and iron-clashing close, 
That when he stopt we long'd to hurl together. 
And should have done it ; but the beauteous beast 
Scared by the noise upstarted at our feet, 
And like a silver shadow slipt away 
Thro' the dim land ; and all day long we rode 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 161 

Thro' the dim land against a rushing wind, 

That glorious roundel echoing in our ears, 

And chased the flashes of his golden horns 

Until they vanished by the fairy well 

That laughs at iron — as our warriors did — 

Where children cast their pins and nails, and cry, 

' Laugh, little well !' but touch it with a sword. 

It buzzes fiercely round the point ; and there 

We lost him : such a noble song was that. 

But, Vivien, when you sang me that sweet rhyme, 

I felt as tho' you knew this cursed charm. 

Were proving it on me, and that I lay 

And felt them slowly ebbing, name and fame." 

And Vivien answerM smiling mournfully : 
" O mine have ebb'd away for evermore. 
And all thro' following you to this wild wood, 
Because I saw you sad, to comfort you. 
Lo now, what hearts have men ! they never mount 
As high as woman in her selfless mood. 
And touching fame, howe'er ye scorn my song. 
Take one verse more — the lady speaks it — this: 

** ' My name, once mine, now thine, is closelier 

mine. 
For fame, could fame be mine, that fame were thine, 
And shame, could shame be thine, that shame were 

mine. 
So trust me not at all or all in all.' 

"Says she not well? and there is more — this 
rhyme 



162 MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

Is like the fair pearl-necklace of the Queen, 

That burst in dancing, and the pearls were spilt ; 

Some lost, some stolen, some as relics kept. 

But nevermore the same two sister pearls 

Ran down the silken thread to kiss each other 

On her white neck — so is it with this rhyme : 

It lives dispersedly in many hands. 

And every minstrel sings it differently ; 

Yet is there one true line, the pearl of pearls : 

' Man dreams of Fame while woman wakes to love.' 

Yea! Love, tho' Love were of the grossest, carves 

A portion from the solid present, eats 

And uses, careless of the rest ; but Fame, 

The Fame that follows death is nothing to us ; 

And what is Fame in life but half-disfame, 

And counterchanged with darkness? ye yourself 

Know well that Envy calls you Devil's son, 

And since ye seem the Master of all Art, 

They fain would make you Master of all vice." 

And Merlin lock'd bis hand in hers and said, 
" I once was looking for a magic weed. 
And found a fair young squire who sat alone, 
Had carved himself a knightly shield of wood, 
And then was painting on it fancied arms, 
Azure, an Eagle rising or, the Sun 
In dexter chief; the scroll ' I follow fame.' 
And speaking not, but leaning over him, 
I took his brush and blotted out the bird, 
And made a Gardener putting in a graff, 
With this for motto, ' Rather use than fame.' 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 163 

You should have seen him blush ; but afterwards. 
He made a stalwart knight. O Vivien, 
For you, methinks you think you love me well ; 
For me, I love you somewhat ; rest : and Love 
Should have some rest and pleasure in himself, 
Not ever be too curious for a boon, 
Too prurient for a proof against the grain 
Of him ye say ye love : but Fame with men, 
Being but ampler means to serve mankind. 
Should have small rest or pleasure in herself, 
But work as vassal to the larger love, 
That dwarfs the petty love of one to one. 
Use gave me Fame at first, and Fame again 
Increasing gave me use. Lo, there my boon ! 
What other? for men sought to prove me vile, 
Because I fain had given them greater wits : 
And then did Envy call me Devil's son : 
The sick weak beast seeking to help herself 
By striking at her better, miss'd, and brought 
Her own claw back, and wounded her own heart. 
Sweet were the days when I was all unknown. 
But when my name was lifted up, the storm 
Brake on the mountain and I cared not for it. 
Right well know I that Fame is half-disfame. 
Yet needs must work my work. That other fame, 
To one at least, who hath not children, vague. 
The cackle of the unborn about the grave, 
I cared not for it : a single misty star, 
Which is the second in a line of stars 
That seem a sword beneath a belt of three, 
I never gazed upon it but I dreamt 



164 MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

Of some vast charm concluded in that star 

To make fame nothing. Wherefore, if I fear. 

Giving you power upon me thro' this charm, 

That you might play me falsely, having power, 

However well ye think ye love me now 

(As sons of kings loving in pupilage 

Have turned to tyrants when they came to power) 

I rather dread the loss of use than fame ; 

If you — and not so much from wdckedness, 

As some wild turn of anger, or a mood 

Of overstrained affection, it may be, 

To keep me all to your own self, — or else 

A sudden spurt of woman's jealousy, — 

Should try this charm on whom ye say ye love." 

And Vivien answer'd smiling as in wrath : 
*' Have I not sworn? I am not trusted. Good ! 
Well, hide it, hide it ; I shall find it out ; 
And being found take heed of Vivien. 
A woman and not trusted, doubtless I 
Might feel some sudden turn of anger born 
Of your misfaith ; and your fine epithet 
Is accurate too, for this full love of mine 
Without the full heart back may merit well 
Your term of overstrain'd. So used as I, 
My daily wonder is, I love at all. 
And as to woman's jealousy, O why not ? 

to what end, except a jealous one, 
And one to make me jealous if I love, 
Was this fair charm invented by yourself.^ 

1 well believe that all about this world 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 165 

Ye cage a buxom captive here and there, 
Closed in the four walls of a hollow tower 
From which is no escape for evermore." 

Then the great Master merrily answered her : 
" Full many a love in loving youth was mine ; 
I needed then no charm to keep them mine 
But youth and love ; and that full heart of yours 
Whereof ye prattle, may now assure you mine ; 
So live uncharm'd. For those who wrought it first, 
The wrist is parted from the hand that waved. 
The feet unmortised from their ankle-bones 
Who paced it, ages back : but will ye hear 
The legend as in guerdon for your rhyme ? 

" There lived a king in the most Eastern East, 
Less old than I, yet older, for my blood 
Hath earnest in it of far springs to be. 
A tawny pirate anchored in his port. 
Whose bark had plundered twenty nameless isles ; 
And passing one, at the high peep of dawn. 
He saw two cities in a thousand boats 
All fighting for a woman on the sea. 
And pushing his black craft among them all, 
He lightly scattered theirs and brought her off, 
With loss of half his people arrow-slain ; 
A maid so smooth, so white, so wonderful. 
They said a light came from her when she moved : 
And since the pirate would not yield her up, 
The King impaled him for his piracy; 
Then made her Queen : but those isle-nurtured eyes 



166 MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

Waged such unwilling tho' successful war 

On all the youth, they sickenM ; councils thlnn'd, 

And armies waned, for magnet-like she drew 

The rustiest iron of old fighters' hearts ; 

And beasts themselves would worship ; camels 

knelt 
Unbidden, and the brutes of mountain back 
That carry kings in castles, bow^d black knees 
Of homage, ringing with their serpent hands, 
To make her smile, her golden ankle-bells. 
What wonder, being jealous, that he sent 
His horns of proclamation out thro' all 
The hundred under-kingdoms that he sway'd 
To find a wizard who might teach the King 
Some charm, which being wrought upon the 

Queen 
Might keep her all his own : to such a one 
He promised more than ever king has given, 
A league of mountain full of golden mines, 
A province with a hundred miles of coast, 
A palace and a princess, all for him : 
But on all those who tried and fail'd, the King 
Pronounced a dismal sentence, meaning by it 
To keep the list low and pretenders back, 
Or like a king, not to be trifled with — 
Their heads should moulder on the city gates. 
And many tried and faiPd, because the charm 
Of nature in her overbore their own : 
And many a wizard brow bleach'd on the walls : 
And many weeks a troop of carrion crows 
Hung like a cloud above the gateway towers." 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 167 

And Vivien breaking in upon him, said : 
* I sit and gather honey ; yet, methinks, 
Thy tongue has tript a little : ask thyself. 
The lady never made unwilling war 
With those fine eyes : she had her pleasure in it, 
And made her good man jealous with good cause. 
And lived there neither dame nor damsel then 
Wroth at a lover's loss? were all as tame, 
I mean, as noble, as their Queen was fair? 
Not one to flirt a venom at her eyes, 
Or pinch a murderous dust into her drink, 
Or make her paler with a poison'd rose ? 
Well, those were not our days : but did they find 
A wizard? Tell me, was he like to thee? " 

She ceased, and made her lithe arm round his neck 
Tighten, and then drew back, and let her eyes 
Speak for her, glowing on him, like a bride's 
On her new lord, her own, the first of men. 

He answered laughing, " Nay, not like to me. 
At last they found — his foragers for charms — 
A little glassy-headed hairless man, 
Who lived alone in a great wild on grass ; 
Read but one book, and ever reading grew 
So grated down and filed away with thought. 
So lean his eyes were monstrous ; while the skin 
Clung but to crate and basket, ribs and spine. 
And since he kept his mind on one sole aim, 
Nor ever touch'd fierce wine, nor tasted flesh, 
Nor own'd a sensual wish, to him the wall 



168 MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

That sunders ghosts and shadow-casting men 
Became a crystal, and he saw them thro' it, 
And heard their voices talk behind the wall, 
And learnt their elemental secrets, powers 
And forces ; often o'er the sun's bright eye 
Drew the vast eyeHd of an inky cloud, 
And lash'd it at the base with slanting storm ; 
Or in the noon of mist and driving rain. 
When the lake whiten'd and the pinewood roar'd, 
And the cairn'd mountain was a shadow, sunn'd 
The world to peace again : here was the man. 
And so by force they dragg'd him to the King. 
And then he taught the King to charm the Queen 
In such-wise, that no man could see her more, 
Nor saw she save the King, who wrought the charm, 
Coming and going, and she lay as dead, 
And lost all use of life : but when the King 
Made proffer of the league of golden mines. 
The province with a hundred miles of coast, 
The palace and the princess, that old man 
Went back to his old wild, and lived on grass, 
And vanish'd, and his book came down to me." 

And Vivien ar.swer'd smiling saucily : 
" Ye have the book : the charm is written in it : 
Good : take my counsel : let me know it at once : 
For keep it like a puzzle chest in chest, 
With each chest lock'd and padlock'd thirty-fold. 
And whelm all this beneath as vast a mound 
As after furious battle turfs the slain 
On some wild down above the windy deep, 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 169 

I yet should strike upon a sudden means 
To dig, pick, open, find and read the charm : 
Then, if I tried it, who should blame me then?" 

And smiling as a master smiles at ore 
That is not of his school, nor any school 
But that where blind and naked Ignorance 
Delivers brawling judgments, unashamed. 
On all things all day long, he answered her : 

" Thou read the book, my pretty Vivien! 
O ay, it is but twenty pages long, 
But every page having an ample marge, 
And every marge enclosing in the midst 
A square of text that looks a little blot, 
The text no larger than the limbs of fleas ; 
And every square of text an awful charm, 
Writ in a language that has long gone by. 
So long, that mountains have arisen since 
With cities on their flanks — thou read the book ! 
And every margin scribbled, crost, and cramm'd 
With comment, densest condensation, hard 
To mind and eye ; but the long sleepless nights 
Of my long life have made it easy to me. 
And none can read the text, not even I ; 
And none can read the comment but myself; 
And in the comment did I find the charm. 
O, the results are simple ; a mere child 
Might use it to the harm of anyone, 
And never could undo it : ask no more : 
For tho' you should not prove it upon me. 



170 MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

But keep that oath ye sware, ye might, perchance, 
Assay it on some one of the Table Round, 
And all because ye dream they babble of you." 

And Vivien, frowning in true anger, said : 
' ' What dare the full-fed liars say of me ? 
They ride abroad redressing human wrongs ! 
They sit with knife in meat and wine in horn ! 
They bound to holy vows of chastity ! 
Were I not woman, I could tell a tale. 
But you are man, you well can understand 
The shame that cannot be explain'd for shame. 
Not one of all the drove should touch me : swine ! " 

Then answer\l Merlin careless of her words : 
"You breathe but accusation vast and vague, 
Spleen-born, I think, and proofless. If ye know, 
Set up the charge ye know, to stand or fall ! " 

And Vivien answer^ frowning wrathfully : 
" O ay, what say ye to Sir Valence, him 
Whose kinsman left him watcher o^'er his wife 
And two fair babes, and went to distant lands; 
Was one year gone, and on returning found 
Not two but three? there lay the reckling, one 
But one hour old ! What said the happy sire? 
A seven-months' babe had been a truer gift. 
Those twelve sweet moons confused his father- 
hood." 

Then answer'd Merlin, " Nay, I know the tale. 
Sir Valence wedded with an outland dame : 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 171 

Some cause had kept him sunder'd from his wife : 
One child they had : it lived with her : she died : 
His kinsman travelHng on his own affair 
Was charged by Valence to bring home the child. 
He brought, not found it therefore : take the truth." 

"O ay," said Vivien, " overtrue a tale. 
What say ye then to sweet Sir Sagramore, 
That ardent man? ' to pluck the flower in season,' 
So says the song, ' I trow it is no treason.' 

Master, shall we call him overquick 

To crop his own sweet rose before the hour?" 

And Merlin answer'd, " Overquick art thou 
To catch a loathly plume fall'n from the wing 
Of that foul bird of rapine whose whole prey 
Is man's good name : he never wrong'd his bride. 

1 know the tale. An angry gust of wind 
Puff'd out his torch among the myriad-room'd 
And many-corridor'd complexities 

Of Arthur's palace : then he found a door. 
And darkling felt the sculptured ornament 
That wreathen round it made it seem his own ; . 
And wearied out made for the couch and slept, 
A stainless man beside a stainless maid ; 
And either slept, nor knew of other there ; 
Till the high dawn piercing the royal rose 
In Arthur's casement glimmer'd chastely down, 
Blushing upon them blushing, and at once 
He rose without a word and parted from her : 
But when the thing: was blazed about the court. 



172 MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

The brute world howling forced them into bonds, 
And as it chanced they are happy, being pure." 

" O ay," said Vivien, " that were likely too. 
What say ye then to fair Sir Percivale 
And of the horrid foulness that he wrought, 
The saintly youth, the spotless lamb of Christ, 
Or some black wether of St. Satan's fold. 
What, in the precincts of the chapel-yard, 
Among the knightly brasses of the graves. 
And by the cold Hie Jacets of the dead ! " 

And Merlin answered careless of her charge, 
" A sober man is Percivale and pure ; 
But once in life was fluster'd with new wine. 
Then paced for coolness in the chapel-yard ; 
Where one of Satan's shepherdesses caught 
And meant to stamp him with her master's mark ; 
And that he sinn'd is not believable ; 
For, look upon his face ! — but if he sinn'd. 
The sin that practice burns into the blood, 
And not the one dark hour which brings remorse, 
Will brand us, after, of whose fold we be : 
Or else were he, the holy king, whose hymns 
Are chanted in the minster, worse than all. 
But is your spleen froth'd out, or have ye more?" 

And Vivien answer'd frowning yet in wrath : 
" O ay ; what say ye to Sir Lancelot, friend 
Traitor or true ? that commerce with the Queen, 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 173 

I ask you, is it clamour'd by the child, 

Or whispered in the corner? do ye know it?" 

To which he answered sadly, "Yea, I know it. 
Sir Lancelot went ambassador, at first, 
To fetch her, and she watchM him from her walls. 
A rumour runs, she took him for the King, 
So fixt her fancy on him : let them be. 
But have ye no one word of loyal praise 
For Arthur, blameless King: and stainless man?" 



She answerM with a low and chuckling laugh : 
" Man ! is he man at all, who knows and winks? 
Sees what his fair bride is and does, and winks? 
By which the good King means to blind himself, 
And blinds himself and all the Table Round 
To all the foulness that they work. Myself 
Could call him (were it not for womanhood) 
The pretty, popular name such manhood earns, 
Could call him the main cause of all their crime ; 
Yea, were he not crown'd King, coward, and fool.' 

Then Merlin to his own heart, loathing, said: 
*' O true and tender ! O my liege and King ! 
O selfless man and stainless gentleman. 
Who wouldst against thine own eye-witness fain 
Have all men true and leal, all women pure ; 
How, in the mouths of base interpreters. 
From over-fineness not intelligible 
To things with every sense as false and foul 



174 MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

As the poach'd filth that floods the middle street, 
Is thy white blamelessness accounted blame ! " 

But Vivien, deeming Merlin overborne 
By instance, recommenced, and let her tongue 
Rage like a fire among the noblest names. 
Polluting, and imputing her whole self, 
Defaming and defacing, till she left 
Not even Lancelot brave, nor Galahad clean. 

Her words had issue other than she wilPd. 
He dragg'd his eyebrow bushes down, and made 
A snowy penthouse for his hollow eyes. 
And mutterM in himself, " Tell her the charm! 
So, if she had it, would she rail on me 
To snare the next, and if she have it not 
So will she rail. What did the wanton say? 
' Not mount as high ; ^ we scarce can sink as low ; 
For men at most differ as Heaven and earth, 
But women, worst and best, as Heaven and Hell. 
I know the Table Round, my friends of old ; 
All brave, and many generous, and some chaste. 
She cloaks the scar of some repulse with lies ; 
I well believe she tempted them and faiPd, 
Being so bitter : for fine plots may fail, 
Tho' harlots paint their talk as well as face 
With colours of the heart that are not theirs. 
I will not let her know : nine tithes of times 
Face-flatterer and backbiter are the same. 
And they, sweet soul, that most impute a crime 
Are pronest to it, and impute themselves, 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN 175 

Wanting the mental range ; or low desire 
Not to feel lowest makes them level all ; 
Yea, they would pare the mountain to the plain, 
To leave an equal baseness ; and in this 
Are harlots like the crowd, that if they find 
Some stain or blemish in a name of note, 
Not grieving that their greatest are so small, 
Inflate themselves with some insane delight, 
And judge all nature from her feet of clay, 
Without the will to lift their eyes, and see 
Her godlike head crown'd with spiritual fire, 
And touching other worlds. I am weary of her." 

He spoke in words part heard, in whispers part, 
Half-suffocated in the hoary fell 
And many-winter'd fleece of throat and chin. 
But Vivien, gathering somewhat of his mood, 
And hearing "harlot" mutterM twice or thrice. 
Leapt from her session on his lap, and stood 
Stiff as a viper frozen ; loathsome sight, 
How from the rosy lips of life and love, 
Flash'd the bare-grinning skeleton of death ! 
White was her cheek ; sharp breaths of anger puft'd 
Her fairy nostril out ; her hand half-clench'd 
Went faltering sideways downward to her belt. 
And feeling ; had she found a dagger there 
(For in a wink the false love turns to hate) 
She would have stabb'd him ; but she found it 

not : 
His eye was calm, and suddenly she took 
To bitter weeping like a beaten child, 



176 MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

A long, long weeping, not consolable. 

Then her false voice made way, broken with sobs : 

'* O crueller than was ever told in tale, 
Or sung in song ! O vainly lavished love ! 

cruel, there was nothing wild or strange, 

Or seeming shameful — for what shame in love, 
So love be true, and not as yours is — nothing 
Poor Vivien had not done to win his trust 
Who caird her what he call'd her — all her crime, 
All — all — the wish to prove him wholly hers." 

She mused a little, and then clapt her hands 
Together with a wailing shriek, and said : 
" Stabb'd through the hearf s affections to the 

heart ! 
Seethed like the kid in its own mother's milk ! 
Kiird with a word worse than a life of blows ! 

1 thought that he was gentle, being great : 

God, that I had loved a smaller man ! 

1 should have found in him a greater heart. 
O, I, that flattering my true passion, saw 

The knights, the court, the King, dark in your light, 
Who loved to make men darker than they are. 
Because of that high pleasure which I had 
To seat you sole upon my pedestal 
Of worship — I am answer'd, and henceforth 
The course of life that seem'd so flowery to me 
With you for guide and master, only you, 
Becomes the sea-cliff pathway broken short, 
And ending in a ruin — nothing left, 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 177 

But into some low cave to crawl, and there, 
If the wolf spare me, weep my life away, 
Kiird with inutterable unkindliness." 

She paused, she turned away, she hung her head, 
The snake of gold slid from her hair, the braid 
Slipt and uncoiPd itself, she wept afresh. 
And the dark wood grew darker toward the storm 
In silence, while his anger slowly died 
Within him, till he let his wisdom go 
For ease of heart, and half believed her true : 
Caird her to shelter in the hollow oak, 
" Come from the storm," and having no reply, 
Gazed at the heaving shoulder, and the face 
Hand-hidden, as for utmost grief or shame ; 
Then thrice essay'd, by tenderest-touching terms, 
To sleek her ruffled peace of mind, in vain. 
At last she let herself be conquer^ by him, 
And as the cageling newly flown returns, 
The seeming-injured simple-hearted thing 
Came to her old perch back, and settled there. 
There while she sat, half-falling from his knees, 
Half-nestled at his heart, and since he saw 
The slow tear creep from her closed eyelids 

yet, 
About her, more in kindness than in love, 
The gentle wizard cast a shielding arm. 
But she disHnk'd herself at once and rose, 
Her arms upon her breast across, and stood, 
A virtuous gentlewoman deeply wrong'd. 
Upright and flush'd before him : then she said : 



178 MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

"There must be now no passages of love 
Betwixt us twain lie nee forward evermore \ 
Since, if I be what I am grossly call'd, 
What should be granted which your own gross heart 
Would reckon worth the taking ? I will go. 
In truth, but one thing now — better have died 
Thrice than have ask'd it once — could make me 

stay — 
That proof of trust — so often ask'd in vain ! 
How justly, after that vile term of yours, 
I find with grief! I might believe you then, 
Who knows ? once more. Lo ! what was once to me 
Mere matter of the fancy, now hath grown 
The vast necessity of heart and life. 
Farewell ; think gently of me, for I fear 
My fate or folly, passing gayer youth 
For one so old, must be to love thee still. 
But ere I leave thee let me swear once more 
That if I schemed against thy peace in this. 
May yon just heaven, that darkens o'er me, send 
One flash, that, missing all things else, may make 
My scheming brain a cinder, if I lie." 

Scarce had she ceased, when out of heaven a bolt 
(For now the storm was close above them) struck, 
Furrowing a giant oak, and javelining 
With darted spikes and splinters of the wood 
The dark earth round. He raised his eyes and saw 
The tree that shone white-listed thro' the gloom. 
But Vivien, fearing heaven had heard her oath, 
And dazzled by the livid-flickering fork, 



MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 179 

And deafened with the stammering cracks and claps 

That followed, flying bacl< and crying out, 

'' O Merlin, tho^ you do not love me, save. 

Yet save me ! " clung to him and hugg'd him close ; 

And caird him dear protector in her fright, 

Nor yet forgot her practice in her fright. 

But wrought upon his mood and hugg'd him close. 

The pale blood of the wizard at her touch 

Took gayer colours, like an opal warnVd. 

She blamed herself for telling hearsay tales : 

She shook from fear, and for her fault she wept 

Of petulancy ; she call'd him lord and liege. 

Her seer, her bard, her silver star of eve, 

Her God, her Merlin, the one passionate love 

Of her whole life ; and ever overhead 

Bellowed the tempest, and the rotten branch 

Snapt in the rushing of the river-rain 

Above them ; and in change of glare and gloom 

Her eyes and neck glittering went and came ; 

Till now the storm, its burst of passion spent, 

Moaning and calling out of other lands, 

Had left the ravaged woodland yet once more 

To peace ; and what should not have been had 

been. 
For Merlin, overtalk'd and overworn, 
Had yielded, told her all the charm, and slept. 

Then, in one moment, she put forth the charm 
Of woven paces and of waving hands. 
And in the hollow oak he lay as dead, 
And lost to life and use and name and fame. 



180 MERLIN AND VIVIEN. 

Then crying " I have made his glory mine,'* 
And shrieking out " O fool ! " the harlot leapt 
Adown the forest, and the thicket closed 
Behind her, and the forest echo'd " fool." 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 181 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

Elaine the fair, Elaine the loveable, 

Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat, 

High in her chamber up a tower to the east 

Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot ; 

Which first she placed where morning's earliest ray 

Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam ; 

Then fearing rust or soikire fashion'd for it 

A case of silk, and braided thereupon 

All the devices blazoned on the shield 

In their own tinct, and added, of her wit, 

A border fantasy of branch and flower, 

And yellow-throated nestling in the nest. 

Nor rested thus content, but day by day, 

Leaving her household and good father, climb'd 

That eastern tower, and entering barr'd her door, 

Stript off the case, and read the naked shield, 

Now guess'd a hidden meaning in his arms, 

Now made a pretty history to herself 

Of every dint a sword had beaten in it. 

And every scratch a lance had made upon it, 

Conjecturing when and where : this cut is fresh ; 

That ten years back ; this dealt him at Caerlyle ; 

That at Caerleon ; this at Camelot : 

And ah God's mercy, what a stroke was there ! 



182 LANCELOT AND ELALNE. 

And here a thrust that might have kilFd, but God 
Broke the strong lance, and rolPd his enemy down, 
And saved him : so she lived in fantasy. 

How came the lily maid by that good shield 
Of Lancelot, she that knew not ev'n his name ? 
He left it with her, when he rode to tilt 
For the great diamond in the diamond jousts, 
Which Arthur had ordain'd, and by that name 
Had named them, since a diamond was the prize. 

For Arthur, long before they crown'd him King, 
Roving the trackless realms of Lyonnesse, 
Had found a glen, gray boulder and black tarn. 
A horror lived about the tarn, and clave 
Like its own mists to all the mountain side : 
For here two brothers, one a king, had met 
And fought together ; but their names were lost ; 
And each had slain his brother at a blow ; 
And down they fell and made the glen abhorr'd : 
And there they lay till all their bones were bleach'd, 
And lichen'd into colour with the crags : 
And he, that once was king, had on a crown 
Of diamonds, one in front, and four aside.) 
And Arthur came, and labouring up the pass. 
All in a misty moonshine, unawares 
Had trodden that crown'd skeleton, and the skull 
Brake from the na^e, and from the skull the crown 
Roird- into light, and turning on its rims 
Flee' like a glittering rivulet to the tarn : 
And :lown the shingly scaur he plunged, and caught. 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 183 

And set it on his head, and in his heart ^ 
Heard murmurs, " Lo, thou likewise shalt be 
King." 

Thereafter, when a King, he had the gems 
Pluck'd from the crown, and showM them to his 

knights, 
Saying, " These jewels, whereupon I chanced 
Divinely, are the kingdom's, not the King's — 
For public use : henceforward let there be, 
Once every year, a joust for one of these : 
For so by nine years' proof we needs must learn 
Which is our mightiest, and ourselves shall grow 
In use of arms and manhood, till we drive 
The heathen, who, some say, shall rule the land 
Hereafter, which God hinder." Thus he spoke : 
And eight years past, eight jousts had been, and 

still 
Had Lancelot won the diamond of the year, 
With purpose to present them to the Queen, 
When all were won ; but meaning all at once 
To snare her royal fancy with a boon 
Worth half her realm, had never spoken word. 

Now for the central diamond and the last 
And largest, Arthur, holding then his court 
Hard on the river nigh the place which now 
Is this world's hugest, let proclaim a joust 
At Camelot, and when the time drew nigh 
Spake (for she had been sick) to Guinevere, 
"Are you so sick, my Queen, you cannot move 



184 LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

To these fair jousts?" "Yea, lord," she said, "ye 

know it." 
" Then will ye miss," he answer'd, " the great 

deeds 
Of Lancelot, and his prowess in the lists, 
A sight ye love to look on." And the Queen 
Lifted her eyes, and they dwelt languidly 
On Lancelot, where he stood beside the King. 
He thinking that he read her meaning there, 
" Stay with me, I am sick ; my love is more 
Than many diamonds," yielded ; and a heart 
Love-loyal to. the least wish of the Queen 
(However much he yearn'd to make complete 
The tale of diamonds for his destined boon) 
Urged him to speak against the truth, and say, 
" Sir King, mine ancient wound is hardly whole, 
And lets me from the saddle ; " and the King 
Glanced first at him, then her, and went his way. 
No sooner gone than suddenly she began : 

*' To blame, my lord Sir Lancelot, much to 
blame ! 
Why go ye not to these fair jousts? the knights 
Are half of them our enemies, and the crowd 
Will murmur, ' Lo the shameless ones, who take 
Their pastime now the trustful King is gone ! ' " 
Then Lancelot vext at having lied in vain : 
" Are ye so wise? ye were not once so wise, 
My Queen, that summer, when ye loved me first. 
Then of the crowd ye took no more account 
Than of the myriad cricket of the mead, 



LANCELOT AND ELALNE. 185 

When its own voice clings to each blade of grass, 
And every voice is nothing. As to knights, 
Them surely can I silence with all ease. 
But now my loyal worship is allowed 
Of all men : many a bard, without offence, 
Has link'd our names together in his lay, 
Lancelot, the flower of bravery. Guinevere, 
The pearl of beauty : and our knights at feast 
Have pledged us in this union, while the King 
Would listen smiling. How then? is there more? 
Has Arthur spoken aught? or would yourself, 
Now weary of my service and devoir. 
Henceforth be truer to your faultless lord ? " 

She broke into a little scornful laugh : 
"Arthur, my lord, Arthur, the faultless King, 
That passionate perfection, my good lord — 
But who can gaze upon the Sun in heaven? 
He never spake word of reproach to me, 
He never had a glimpse of mine untruth, 
He cares not for me : only here to-day 
There gleam'd a vague suspicion in his eyes : 
Some meddling rogue has tampered with him — else 
Rapt in this fancy of his Table Round, 
And swearing men to vows impossible. 
To make them like himself: but, friend, to me 
He is all fault who hath no fault at all : 
For who loves me must have a touch of earth ; 
The low sun makes the colour : I am yours. 
Not Arthur's, as ye know, save by the bond. 
And therefore hear my words : go to the jousts : 



186 LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

The tiny-trumpeting gnat can break our dream 

When sweetest ; and the vermin voices here 

May buzz so loud — vi^e scorn them, but they sting." 

Then answer'd Lancelot, the chief of knights : 
*' And with what face, after my pretext made, 
Shall I appear, O Queen, at Camelot, I 
Before a King who honours his own word, 
As if it were his God's?" 

"Yea," said the Queen, 
" A moral child without the craft to rule, 
Else had he not lost me : but listen to me. 
If I must find you wit : we hear it said 
That men go down before your spear at a touch. 
But knowing you are Lancelot ; your great name, 
This conquers : hide it therefore ; go unknown : 
Win ! by this kiss you will : and our true King 
Will then allow your pretext, O my knight. 
As all for glory ; for to speak him true. 
Ye know right well, how meek soe'er he seem, 
No keener hunter after glory breathes. 
He loves it in his knights more than himself: 
They prove to him his work : win and return." 

Then got Sir Lancelot suddenly to horse. 
Wroth at himself. Not willing to be known, 
He left the barren-beaten thoroughfare. 
Chose the green path that showed the rarer foot, 
And there among the solitary downs, 
Full often lost in fancy, lost his way ; 
Till as he traced a faintly-shadow'd track, 



LANCELOT AND ELALNE. 187 

That all in loops and links among the dales 

Ran to the Castle of Astolat, he saw 

Fired from the west, far on a hill, the towers. 

Thither he made, and blew the gateway horn. 

Then came an old, dumb, myriad-wrinkled man, 

Who let him into lodging and disarmed. 

And Lancelot marvell'd at the wordless man ; 

And issuing found the Lord of Astolat 

With two strong sons, Sir Torre and Sir Lavaine, 

Moving to meet him in the castle court ; 

And close behind them stept the lily maid 

Elaine, his daughter : mother of the house 

There was not: some light jest among them 

rose 

With laughter dying down as the great knight 

Approach'd them : then the Lord of Astolat : 

" Whence comest thou, my guest, and by what 

name 
Livest between the lips? for by thy state 
And presence I might guess thee chief of those, 
After the King, who eat in Arthur's halls. 
Him have I seen : the rest, his Table Round, 
Known as they are, to me they are unknown." 

Then answer'd Lancelot, the chief of knights : 
" Known am I, and of Arthur's hall, and known. 
What I by mere mischance have brought, my 

shield. 
But since I go to joust as one unknown 
At Camelot for the diamond, ask me not, 
Hereafter ye shall know me — and the shield — 



188 LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

I pray you lend me one, if such you have, 
Blank, or at least with some device not mine." 



Then said the Lord of Astolat, " Here is Torre's ; 
Hurt in his first tilt was my son, Sir Torre. 
And so, God w^ot, his shield is blank enough. 
His ye can have." Then added plain Sir Torre, 
" Yea, since I cannot use it, ye may have it." 
Here laugh'd the father saying, " Fie, Sir Churl, 
Is that an answer for a noble knight? 
Allow him ! but Lavaine, my younger here, 
He is so full of lustihood, he will ride, 
Joust for it, and win, and bring it in an hour, 
And set it in this damsePs golden hair. 
To make her thrice as wilful as before." 

> 

' ' Nay, father, nay good father, shame me not 
Before this noble knight," said young Lavaine, 
" For nothing. Surely I but play'd on Torre : 
He seemM so sullen, vext he could not go : 
A jest, no more ! for, knight, the maiden dreamt 
That some one put this diamond in her hand. 
And that it was tco slippery to be held, 
And slipt and fell into some pool or stream. 
The castle-well, belike ; and then I said 
That if I went and if I fought and won it 
(But all was jest and joke among ourselves) 
Then must she keep it safelier. All was jest. 
But, father, give me leave, an if he will, 
To rid to Camelot with this noble knight : 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 189 

Win shall I not, but do my best to win : 
Young as I am, yet would I do my best." 

" So ye will grace me," answerM Lancelot, 
Smiling a moment, " with your fellowship 
O'er these waste downs whereon I lost myself, 
Then were I glad of you as guide and friend : 
And you shall win this diamond, — as I hear 
It is a fair large diamond, — if ye may. 
And yield it to this maiden, if ye will." 
"A fair large diamond," added plain Sir Torre, 
" Such be for queens, and not for simple maids." 
Then she, who held her eyes upon the ground, 
Elaine, and heard her name so tost about, 
Flushed slightly at the slight disparagement 
Before the stranger knight, who, looking at her, 
Full courtly, yet not falsely, thus return'd : 
" If what is fair be but for what is fair, 
And only queens are to be counted so. 
Rash were my judgment then, who deem this maid 
Might wear as fair a jewel as is on earth. 
Not violating the bond of like to like." 

He spoke and ceased : the lily maid Elaine, 
Won by the mellow voice before she look'd, 
Lifted her eyes, and read his lineaments. 
The great and guilty love he bare the Queen, 
In battle with the love he bare his lord. 
Had marr'd his face, and mark'd it ere his time. 
Another sinning on such heights with one, 
The flower of all the west and all the world, 



190 LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

Had been the sleeker for it : but in him 
His mood was often like a fiend,"and rose 
And drove him into wastes and solitudes 
For agony, who was yet a living soul. 
Marr'd as he was, he seem'd the goodliest man 
That ever among ladies ate in hall, 
And noblest, when she lifted up her eyes. 
However marr'd, of more than twice her years, 
Seam'd with an ancient swordcut on the cheek, 
And bruised and bronzed, she lifted up her eyes 
And loved him, with that love which was her 
doom. 

Then the great knight, the darling of the court, 
Loved of the loveliest, into that rude hall 
Stept with all grace, and not with half disdain 
Hid under grace, as in a smaller time, 
But kindly man moving among his kind : 
Whom they with meats and vintage of their best 
And talk and minstrel melody entertainM. 
And much they ask'd of court and Table Round, 
And ever well and readily answer'd he : 
But Lancelot, when they glanced at Guinevere, 
Suddenly speaking of the wordless man. 
Heard from the Baron that, ten years before. 
The heathen caught and reft him of his tongue. 
" He learnt and warn'd me of their fierce design 
Against my house, and him they caught and maim'd ; 
But I, my sons, and little daughter fled 
From bonds or death, and dwelt among the woods 
By the great river in a boatman's hut. 



LANCELOT AND ELALNE. 191 

Dull days were those, till our good Arthur broke 
The Pagan yet once more on Badon hill.'^ 

" O there, great lord, doubtless," Lavaine said, ra; ': 
By all the sweet and sudden passion of youth 
Toward greatness in its elder, " You have fought. 
O tell us — for we live apart — you know 
Of Arthur's glorious wars." And Lancelot spoke 
And answer'd him at full, as having been 
With Arthur in the fight which all day long 
Rang by theWhite mouth' of the violent Glem ; 
And in the four loud battles by the shore 
Of Duglas ; that on Bassa ; then the war 
That thunder'd in and out the gloomy skirts 
Of Celidon the forest ; and again 
By castle Gurnion, where the glorious King 
Had on his cuirass worn our Lady's Head, 
Carved of one emerald centered in a sun 
Of silver rays, that lightened as he breathed ; 
And at Caerleon had he help'd his lord. 
When the strong neighings of the wild white Horse 
Set every gilded parapet shuddering ; 
And up in Agned-Cathregonion too. 
And down the waste sand-shores of Trath Treroit, 
Where many a heathen fell ; " and on the mount 
Of Badon I myself beheld the King 
Charge at the head of all his Table Round, 
And all his legions crying Christ and him, 
And break them ; and I saw him, after, stand 
High on a heap of slain, from spur to plume 
Red^s the rising sunNwith heathen blood, 



192 LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

And seeing me, with a great voice he cried, 
' They are broken, they are broken ! ' for the King, 
However mild he seems at home, nor cares 
For triumph in our mimic wars, the jousts — 
For if his own knight cast him down, he laughs 
Saying, his knights are better men than he — 
Yet in this heathen war the fire of God 
Fills him : I never saw his like : there lives 
No greater leader." 

While he utter'd this, 
Low to her own heart said the lily maid, 
" Save your great self, fair lord ; " and when he fell 
From talk of war to traits of pleasantry — 
Being mirthful he, but in a stately kind — 
She still took note that when the living smile 
Died from his lips, across him came a cloud 
Of melancholy severe, from which again, 
Whenever in her hovering to and fro 
The lily maid had striven to make him cheer, 
There brake a sudden-beaming tenderness 
Of manners and of nature : and she thought 
That all was nature, all, perchance, for her. 
And all night long his face before her lived, 
As when a painter, poring on a face. 
Divinely thro' all hindrance finds the man 
Behind it, and so paints him that his face, 
The shape and colour of a mind and life, 
Lives for his children, ever at its best 
And fullest ; so the face before her lived, 
Dark-splendid, speaking in the silence, full 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 193 

Of noble things, and held her from her sleep. 
Till rathe she rose, half cheated in the thought 
She needs must bid farewell to sweet Lavaine. 
First as in fear, step after step, she stole 
Down the long tower-stairs, hesitating: 
Anon, she heard Sir Lancelot cry in the court, 
"This shield, my friend, where is it?'' and La- 
vaine 
Past inward, as she came from out the tower. 
There to his proud horse Lancelot turnM, and 

smoothed 
The glossy shoulder, humming to himself. 
Half-envious of the flattering hand, she drew 
Nearer and stood. He lookM, and more amazed 
Than if seven men had set upon him, saw 
The maiden standing in the dewy light. 
He had not dream'd she was so beautiful. 
Then came on him a sort of sacred fear, 
For silent, tho' he greeted her, she stood 
Rapt on his face as if it were a God's. 
Suddenly flashed on her a wild desire, 
That he should wear her favour at the tilt. 
She braved a riotous heart in asking for it. 
"Fair lord, whose name I know not — noble it is, 
I well believe, the noblest — will you wear 
My favour at this tourney? " " Nay," said he, 
" Fair lady, since I never yet have worn 
Favour of any lady in the lists. 
Such is my wont, as those, who know me, know." 
"Yea, so," she answer'd ; " then in wearing mine 
Needs must be lesser likelihood, noble lord. 



194 LANCELOT AND ELALNE. 

That those who know should know you." And he 

turned 
Her counsel up and down within his mind, 
And found it true, and answered, " True, my child. 
Well, I will wear it : fetch it out to me : 
What is it?" and she told him "A red sleeve 
Broider'd with pearls," and brought it : then he 

bound 
Her token on his helmet, with a smile 
Saying, " I never yet have done so much 
For any maiden living," and the blood 
Sprang to her face and filPd her with delight ; 
But left her all the paler, when Lavaine 
Returning brought the yet-unblazon'd shield, 
His brother's ; which he gave to Lancelot, 
Who parted with his own to fair Elaine : 
" Do me this grace, my child, to have my shield 
In keeping till I come." " A grace to me," 
She answered, " twice to-day. I am your squire ! " 
Whereat Lavaine said, laughing, " Lily maid, 
For fear our people call you lily maid 
In earnest, let me bring your colour back; 
Once, twice, and thrice : now get you hence to bed : " 
So kissM her, and Sir Lancelot his own hand. 
And thus they moved away : she stay'd a minute, 
Then made a sudden step to the gate, and there — 
Her bright hair blown about the serious face 
Yet rosy-kindled with her brother's kiss — 
Paused by the gateway, standing near the shield 
In silence, while she watch'd their arms far-off 
Sparkle, until they dipt below the downs. 



LANCELOT AND ELALNE. 195 

Then to her tower she climb''d, and took the shield, 
There kept it, and so lived in fantasy. 

Meanwhile the new companions past away 
Far o'er the long backs of the bushless downs. 
To where Sir Lancelot knew there lived a knight 
Not far from Camelot, now for forty years 
A hermit, who had pray'd, labour'd and pray'd, 
And ever labouring had scoop'd himself 
In the white rock a chapel and a hall 
On massive columns, like a shoreclifif cave, 
And cells and chambers : all were fair and dry ; 
The green light from the meadows underneath 
Struck up and lived along the milky roofs ; 
And in the meadows tremulous aspen-trees 
And poplars made a noise of falling showers. 
And thither wending there that night they bode. 

But when the next day broke from underground, 
And shot red fire and shadows thro' the cave, 
They rose, heard mass, broke fast, and rode away : 
Then Lancelot saying, " Hear, but hold my name 
Hidden, you ride with Lancelot of the Lake," 
Abashed Lavaine, whose instant reverence, 
Dearer to true young hearts than their own praise, 
But left him leave to stammer, " Is it indeed?" 
And after muttering " The great Lancelot," 
At last he got his breath and answered, " One, 
One have I seen — that other, our liege lord. 
The dread Pendragon, Britain's King of kings, 
Of whom the people talk mysteriously, 



196 LANCELOT AND ELALNE. 

He will be there — then were I stricken blind 
That minute, I might say that I had seen." 

So spake Lavaine, and when they reach'd the lists 
By Camelot in the meadow, let his eyes 
Run thro' the peopled gallery which half yojiM 
Lay like a rainbow falPn upon the grass,- " ". 
Until they found the clear-faced King, who sat 
Robed in red samite, easily to be known, 
Since to his crown the golden dragon clung. 
And down his robe the dragon writhed in gold, 
And from the carven-work behind him crept 
Two dragons gilded, sloping down to make 
Arms for his chair, while all the rest of them 
Thro'^knots and loops and folds innumerable 
Fled ever thro' the woodwork, till they found 
The new design wherein they lost themselves, 
Yet with all ease, so tender was the work : 
And, in the costly canopy o'er him set, 
Blazad the last diamond of the nameless king. 

Then Lancelot answer'd young Lavaine and said, 
" Me you call great : 'mine is the firmer seat, 
The truer lance : but there is many a youth 
Now crescent, who will come to all I am 
And overcome it ; and in me there dwells 
No greatness, save it be some far-off touch 
Of greatness to know well! am "not 'great : 
There is the man." And Lavaine gaped upon him 
As on a thing miraculous, and anon 
The trumpets blew ; and then did either side, 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. Y^l 

They that assail'd, and they that held the lists, 

Set lance in rest, strike spur, suddenly move, 

Meet in the midst, and there so furiously 

Shock, that a man far-off might well perceive, 

If any man that day were left afield. 

The hard earth shake, and a low thunder of arms. 

And Lancelot bode a little, till he saw 

Which were the weaker ; then he hurl'd into it 

Against the stronger : little need to speak 

Of Lancelot in his glory! King, duke, earl, 

Count, baron — whom he smote, he overthrew. 

But in the field were Lancelot's kith and kin, 
Ranged with the Table Round that held the lists, 
Strong men, and wrathful that a stranger knight 
Should do and almost overdo the deeds 
Of Lancelot ; and one said to the other, " Lo ! 
What is he ? I do not mean the force alone — - 
The grace and versatility of the man ! 
Is it not Lancelot?" "When has Lancelot worn 
Favour of any lady in the lists ? 
Not such his wont, as we, that know him, know." 
" How then? who then? " a fury seized them all, 
A fiery family passion for the name 
Of Lancelot, and a glory one with theirs. 
They couch'd their spears and prick'd their steeds, 

and thus. 
Their plumes driven backward by the wind they made 
In moving, all together down upon him 
Bare, as a wild wave in the wide North-sea, 
Green-glimmering toward the summit, bears, with all 



198 LANCELOT AND ELALNE. 

Its stormy crests that smoke against the skies, 
Down on a bark, and overbears the bark, 
And him that helms it, so they overbore 
Sir Lancelot and his charger, and a spear 
Down-glancing lamed the charger, and a spear 
PrickM sharply his own cuirass, and the head 
Pierced thro' his side, and there snapt, and remain'd. 

Then Sir Lavaine did well and worshipfully ; 
He bore a knight of old repute to the earth, 
And brought his horse to Lancelot where he lay. 
He up the side, sweating with agony, got, 
But thought to do while he might yet endure, 
And being lustily holpen by the rest, 
His party, — tho' it seem'd half-miracle 
To those he fought with, — drave his kith and kin, 
And all the Table Round that held the lists. 
Back to the barrier ; then the trumpets blew 
Proclaiming his the prize, who wore the sleeve 
Of scarlet, and the pearls ; and all the knights, 
His party, cried " Advance and take thy prize 
The diamond ; " but he answered, " Diamond me 
No diamonds ! for God's love, a little air ! 
Prize me no prizes, for my prize is Seath ! 
Hence will I, and I charge you, follow me not." 

He spoke, and vanish'd suddenly from the field 
With young Lavaine into the poplar grove. 
There from his charger down he slid, and sat. 
Gasping to Sir Lavaine, " Draw the lance-head :." 
" Ah my sweet lord Sir Lancelot," said Lavaine, 
"I dread me, if I draw it, you will die." 



LANCELOT AND ELALNE. 199 

But he, " I die already with it: draw — 

Draw," — and Lavaine drew, and Sir Lancelot gave 

A marvellous great shriek and ghastly groan, 

And half his blood burst forth, and down he sank 

For the pure pain, and wholly swoon'd away. 

Then came the hermit out and bare him in. 

There stanch'd his wound ; and there, in daily 

doubt 
Whether to live or die, for many a week 
Hid from the wide world's rumour by the grove 
y Of poplars with their noise of falling showers, 
And ever-tremulous aspen-trees, he layA 

But on that day when Lancelot fled the lists, 
His party, knights of utmost North and West, 
Lords of waste marches, kings of desolate isles, 
Came round their great Pendragon, saying to him, 
" Lo, Sire, our knight, thro' whom we won the day, 
Hath gone sore wounded, and hath left his prize 
Untaken, crying that his prize is death." 
" Heaven hinder," said the King, " that such an one, 
So great a knight as we have seen to-day — 
He seemM to me another Lancelot — 
Yea, twenty times I thought him Lancelot — 
He must not pass uncared for. Wherefore, rise, 

Gawain, and ride forth and find the knight. 
Wounded and wearied needs must he be near. 

1 charge you that you get at once to horse. 

And, knights and kings, there breathes not one of 

you 
Will deem this prize of ours is rashly given : 



200 LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

His prowess was too wondrous. We will do him 
No customary honour : since the knight 
Came not to us, of us to claim the prize, 
Ourselves will send it after. Rise and take 
This diamond, and deliver it, and return. 
And bring us where he is, and how he fares, 
And cease not from your quest until ye find." 

So saying, from the carven flower above, 
To which it made a restless heart, he took, 
And gave, the diamond : then from where he sat 
At Arthur's right, with smiling face arose, 
With smiling face and frowning heart, a Prince 
In the mid might and flourish of his May, 
Gawain, surnamed The Courteous, fair and strong, 
And after Lancelot, Tristram, and Geraint 
And Gareth, a good knight, but therewithal 
Sir Modred's brother, and the child of Lot, 
Nor often Icy^ to his word, and now 
Wroth that the King's command to sally forth 
In quest of whom he knew not, made him leave 
The banquet, and concourse of knights and kings. 

So all in wrath he got to horse and went ; 
While Arthur to the banquet, dark in mood, 
Past, thinking " Is it Lancelot who hath come 
Despite the wound he spake of, all for gain 
Of glory, and hath added wound to wound. 
And ridd'n away to die?" So fear'd the King, 
And, after two days' tarriance there, return'd. 
Then when he saw the Queen, embracing ask'd, 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 201 

" Love, are you yet so sick ? " " Nay, lord," she said. 
" And where is Lancelot ? " Then the Queen amazed, 
*' Was he not with you? won he not your prize? " 
" Nay, but one like him." " Why that like was he." 
And when the King demanded how she knew, 
Said, " Lord, no sooner had ye parted from us, 
Than Lancelot told me of a common talk 
That men went down before his spear at a touch, 
But knowing he was Lancelot ; his great name 
Conquer'd ; and therefore would he hide his name 
From all men, ev'n the King, and to this end 
Had made the pretext of a hindering wound, 
That he might joust unknown of all, and learn . 
If his old prowess were in aught decay'd ; 
And added, ' Our true Arthur, when he learns, 
Will well allow my pretext, as for gain 
Of purer glory/ " 

Then replied the King : 
" Far lovelier in our Lancelot had it been. 
In lieu of idly dallying with the truth. 
To have trusted me as he hath trusted thee. 
Surely his King and most familiar friend 
Might well have kept his secret. True, indeed, 
Albeit I know my knights fantastical, 
So fine a fear in our large Lancelot 
Must needs have moved my laughter : now remains 
But little cause for laughter : his own kin — 
111 news, my Queen, for all who love him, this ! — 
His kith and kin, not knowing, set upon him ; 
So that he went sore wounded from the field : 



202 LANCELOT AND ELALNE. 

Yet good news too : for goodly hopes are mine 
That Lancelot is no more a lonely heart. 
He wore, against his wont, upon his helm 
A sleeve of scarlet, broiderM with great pearls, 
Some gentle maiden's gift." 

" Yea, lord," she said, 
" Thy hopes are mine," and saying that, she choked. 
And sharply turn'd about to hide her face, 
Past to her chamber, and there flung herself 
Down on the great King's couch, and writhed upon 

it. 
And clench'd her fingers till they bit the palm. 
And shriek'd out " Traitor," to the unhearing wall, 
Then flashed into wild tears, and rose again. 
And moved about her palace, proud and pale. 

Gawain the while thro' all the region round 
Rode with his diamond, wearied of the quest. 
Touched at all points, except the poplar grove. 
And came at last, tho' late, to Astolat : 
Whom glittering in enamelPd arms the maid 
Glanced at, and cried, " What news from Camelot, 

lord? 
What of the knight with the red sleeve?" "He 

won." 
" I knew it," she said. "■ But parted from the jousts 
Hurt in the side," whereat she caught her breath ; 
Thro' her own side she felt the sharp lance go ; 
Thereon she smote her hand : wellnigh she swoon'd : 
And, while he gazed wonderingly at her, came 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 203 

The Lord of Astolat out, to whom the Prince 

Reported who he was, and on what quest 

Sent, that he bore the prize and could not find 

The victor, but had ridd'n a random round 

To seek him, and had wearied of the search. 

To whom the Lord of Astolat, " Bide with us. 

And ride no more at random, noble Prince ! 

Here was the knight, and here he left a shield ; 

This will he send or come for : furthermore 

Our son is with him ; we shall hear anon, 

Needs must we hear." To this the courteous Prince 

Accorded with his wonted courtesy. 

Courtesy with a touch of traitor in it, 

And stay'd ; and cast his eyes on fair Elaine : 

Where could be found face daintier? then her shape 

From forehead down to foot, perfect — again 

From foot to forehead exquisitely turn'd : 

" Well — if I bide, lo ! this wild flower for me !" 

And oft they met among the garden yews. 

And there he set himself to play upon her 

With sallying wit, free flashes from a height 

Above her, graces of the court, and songs, 

Sighs, and slow smiles, and golden eloquence 

And amorous adulation, till the maid 

Rebeird against it, saying to him, " Prince, 

O loyal nephew of our noble King, 

Why ask you not to see the shield he left, 

Whence you might learn his name? Why slight 

your King, 
And lose the quest he sent you on, and prove 
No surer than our falcon yesterday, 



204 LANCELOT AND ELALNE, 

Who lost the hern we sHpt her at, and went 

To all the winds? " " Nay, by mine head," said he, 

" I lose it, as we lose the lark in heaven, 

damsel, in the light of your blue eyes ; 
But an ye will it let me see the shield." 

And when the shield was brought, and Gawain saw 
Sir Lancelot's azure lions, crown'd with gold, 
Ramp in the field, he smote his thigh, and mock'd : 
\^ Right was the King! our Lancelot! that true 

man!" ] 
"And right was I," she answer'd merrily, " I, 
Who dream'd my knight the greatest knight of all." 
" And if /dream'd," said Gawain, " that you love 
This greatest knight, your pardon ! lo, ye know it ! 
Speak therefore : shall I waste myself in vain? " 
Full simple was her answer, " What know I? 
My brethren have been all my fellowship ; 
And I, when often they have talk'd of love, 
Wish'd it had been my mother, for they talked, 
MeseemM, of what they knew not; so myself — 

1 know not if I know what true love is, 
But if I know, then, if I love not him, 
I know there is none other I can love.' 

"Yea, by God's death," said he, " ye love him well, 
But would not, knew ye what all others know, 
And whom he loves." "So be it," cried Elaine, 
And lifted her fair face and moved away : 
But he pursued her, calling, " Stay a little ! 
Oae golden minute's grace ! he wore your sleeve : 
Would he break faith with one I may not name? 
Must our true man change like a leaf at last? 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 205 

Nay — like enow : why then, far be it from me 

To cross our mighty Lancelot in his loves ! 

And, damsel, for I deem you know full well 

Where your great knight is hidden, let me leave 

My quest with you ; the diamond also : here ! 

For if you love, it will be sweet to give it ; 

And if he love, it will be sweet to have it 

From your own hand ; and whether he love or not, 

A diamond is a diamond. Fare you well 

A thousand times ! — a thousand times farewell ! 

Yet, if he love, and his love hold, we two 

May meet at court hereafter : there, I think, 

So ye will learn the courtesies of the court, 

We two shall know each other."" 

Then he gave, 
And slightly kiss'd the hand to which he gave, 
The diamond, and all wearied of the quest 
Leapt on his horse, and carolling as he went 
A true-love ballad, lightly rode away. 

Thence to the court he past ; there told the King 
What the King knew, " Sir Lancelot is the knight." 
And added, " Sire, my liege, so much I learnt ; 
But faiPd to find him, tho' I rode all round 
The region : but I lighted on the maid 
Whose sleeve he wore ; she loves him ; and to 

her, 
Deeming our courtesy is the truest law, 
I gave the diamond : she will render it ; 
For by mine head she knows his hiding-place." 



206 LANCELOT AND ELALNE. 

The seldom-frowning King frown'd, and replied, 
" Too courteous truly ! ye shall go no more 
On quest of mine, seeing that ye forget 
Obedience is the courtesy due to kings." 

He spake and parted. Wroth, but all in awe, 
For twenty strokes of the blood, without a word, 
Linger'd that other, staring after him ; 
Then shook his hair, strode off, and buzz'd abroad 
About the maid of Astolat, and her love. 
All ears were prick'd at once, all tongues were loosed : 
" The maid of Astolat loves Sir Lancelot, 
Sir Lancelot loves the maid of Astolat." 
Some read the King's face, some the Queen's, and all 
Had marvel what the maid might be, but most 
Predoom'd her as unworthy. One old dame 
Came suddenly on the Queen with the sharp news. 
She, that had heard the noise of it before, 
But sorrowing Lancelot should have stoop'd so low, 
Marr'd her friend's aim with pale tranquillity. 
So ran the tale like fire about the court, 
Fire in dry stubble a nine-days' wonder flared : 
Till ev'n the knights at banquet twice or thrice 
Forgot to drink to Lancelot and the Queen, 
And pledging Lancelot and the lily maid 
Smiled at each other, while the Queen, who sat 
With lips severely placid, felt the knot 
Climb in her throat, and with her feet unseen 
Crush'd the wild passion out against the floor 
Beneath the banquet, where the meats became 
As wormwood, and she hated all who pledged. 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 201 

But far away the maid in Astolat, 
Her guiltless rival, she that ever kept 
The one-day-seen Sir Lancelot in her heart, 
Crept to her father, while he mused alone, 
Sat on his knee, stroked his gray face and said, 
*' Father, you call me wilful, and the fault 
Is yours who let me have my will, and now, 
Sweet father, will you let me lose my wits?" 
*' Nay," said he, " surely." *' Wherefore, let me 

hence," 
She answer'd, " and find out our dear Lavaine." 
" Ye will not lose your wits for dear Lavaine : 
Bide," answer'd he : " we needs must hear anon 
Of him, and of that other." " Ay," she said, 
" And of that other, for I needs must hence 
And find that other, wheresoever he be. 
And with mine own hand give his diamond to him, 
Lest I be found as faithless in the quest 
As yon proud Prince who left the quest to me. 
Sweet father, I behold him in my dreams 
Gaunt as it were the skeleton of himself. 
Death-pale, for lack of gentle maiden's aid. 
The gentler-born the maiden, the more bound, 
My father, to be sweet and serviceable 
To noble knights in sickness, as ye know 
When these have worn their tokens : let me hence 
I pray you." Then her father nodding said, 
" Ay, ay, the diamond : wit ye well, my child, 
Right fain were I to learn this knight were whole, 
Being our greatest : yea, and you must give it — 
And sure I think this fruit is huns too high 



208 LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

For any mouth to gape for save a queen\s — 
Nay, I mean nothing : so then, get you gone, 
Being so very wilful you must go." 

Lightly, her suit allowed, she slipt away, 
And while she made her ready for her ride, 
Her father's latest word humm'd in her ear, 
" Being so very wilful you must go," 
And changed itself and echo'd in her heart, 
" Being so very wilful you must die." 
But she was happy enough and shook it off. 
As we shake off the bee that buzzes at us ; 
And in her heart she answered it and said, 
" What matter, so I help him back to life? " 
Then far away with good Sir Torre for guide 
Rode o'er the long backs of the bushless downs 
To Camelot, and before the city-gates 
Came on her brother with a happy face 
Making a roan horse caper and curvet 
For pleasure all about a field of flowers : 
Whom when she saw, " Lavaine," she cried, 

" Lavaine, 
How fares my lord Sir Lancelot?" He amazed, 
" Torre and Elaine ! why here? Sir Lancelot! 
How know ye my lord's name is Lancelot?" 
But when the maid had told him all her tale. 
Then turn'd Sir Torre, and being in his moods 
Left them, and under the strange-statued gate, 
Where Arthur's wars were render'd mystically, 
Past up the still rich city to his kin. 
His own far blood, which dwelt at Camelot ; 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 209 

And her, Lavaine across the poplar grove 

Led to the caves : there first she saw the casque 

Of Lancelot on the wall : her scarlet sleeve, 

Tho^ carved and cut, and half the pearls away. 

Streamed from it still ; and in her heart she laugh'd, 

Because he had not loosed it from his helm. 

But meant once more perchance to tourney in it. 

And when they gainM the cell wherein he slept. 

His battle-writhen arms and mighty hands 

Lay naked on the wolfskin, and a dream 

Of dragging down his enemy made them move. 

Then she that saw him lying unsleek, unshorn, 

Gaunt as it were the skeleton of himself, 

Utter'd a little tender dolorous cry. 

The sound not w^onted in a place so still 

Woke the sick knight, and while he roll'd his eyes 

Yet blank from sleep, she started to him, saying, 

" Your prize the diamond sent you by the King : " 

His eyes glistenM : she fancied " Is it for me?" 

And when the maid had told him all the tale 

Of King and Prince, the diamond sent, the quest 

Assigned to her not worthy of it, she knelt 

Full lowly by the corners of his bed, 

And laid the diamond in his open hand. 

Her face was near, and as we kiss the child 

That does the task assign'd, he kiss'd her face. 

At once she slipt like water to the floor. 

"Alas," he said, "your ride hath wearied you. 

Rest must you have." " No rest for me," she said ; 

*' Nay, for near you, fair lord, I am at rest." 

What might she mean by that? his large black eyes, 



210 LANCELOT AND ELAINE 

Yet larger thro' his leanness, dwelt upon her, 
Till all her heart's sad secret blazed itself 
In the heart's colours on her simple face ; 
And Lancelot look'd and was perplext in mind, 
And being weak in body said no more ; 
But did not love the colour ; woman's love, 
Save one, he not regarded, and so turn'd 
Sighing, and feign'd a sleep until he slept. 

Then rose Elaine and glided thro' the fields, 
And past beneath the weirdly-sculptured gates 
Far up the dim rich city to her kin ; , 

There bode the night : but woke with dawn, and past 
Down thro' the dim rich city to the fields, 
Thence to the cave : so day by day she past 
In either twilight ghost-like to and fro 
Gliding, and every day she tended him, 
And likewise many a night : and Lancelot 
Would, tho' he calPd his wound a little hurt 
Whereof he should be quickly whole, at times 
Brain-feverous in his heat and agony, seem 
Uncourteous, even he : but the meek maid 
Sweetly forbore him ever, being to him 
Meeker than any child to a rough nurse. 
Milder than any mother to a sick child, 
And never woman yet, since man's first fall, 
Did kindlier unto man, but her deep love 
Upbore her ; till the hermit, skill'd in all 
The simples and the science of that time. 
Told him that her fine care had saved his life. 
And the sick man forgot her simple blush, 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 211 

Would call her friend and sister, sweet Elaine, 
Would listen for her coming and regret 
Her parting step, and held her tenderly, 
And loved her with all love except the love 
Of man and woman when they love their best, 
Closest and sweetest, and had died the death 
In any knightly fashion for her sake. 
And peradventure had he seen her first 
She might have made this and that other world 
Another world for the sick man ; but now 
The shackles of an old love straiten'd him, 
His honour rooted in dishonour stood, 
And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true. 

Yet the great knight in his mid-sickness made 
Full many a holy vow and pure resolve. 
These, as but born of sickness, could not live : 
For when the blood ran lustier in him again, 
Full often the bright image of one face, 
Making a treacherous quiet in his heart, 
Dispersed his resolution like a cloud. 
Then if the maiden, while that ghostly grace 
Beamed on his fancy, spoke, he answer'd not. 
Or short and coldly, and she knew right well 
What the rough sickness meant, but \vhat this 

meant 
She knew not, and the sorrow dimm'd her sight. 
And drave her ere her time across the fields 
Far into the rich city, where alone 
She murmur'd, " Vain, in vain : it cannot be. 
He will not love me : how then? must I. die?" 



212 LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

Then as a little helpless innocent bird, 

That has but one plain passage of few notes, 

Will sing the simple passage o'er and o'er 

For all an April morning, till the ear 

Wearies to hear it, so the simple maid 

Went half the night repeating, "Must I die?" 

And now to right she turn'd, and now to left. 

And found no ease in turning or in rest ; 

And " Him or death," she mutter'd, " death or him," 

Again and like a burthen, " Him or death." 

But when Sir Lancelot's deadly hurt was whole, 
To Astolat returning rode the three. 
There morn by morn, arraying her sweet self 
In that wherein she deem'd she look'd her best, 
She came before Sir Lancelot, for she thought 
" If I be loved, these are my festal robes. 
If not, the victim's flowers before he fall." 
And Lancelot ever prest upon the maid 
That she should ask some goodly gift of him 
For her own self or hers ; " and do not shun 
To speak the wish most near to your true heart; 
Such service have ye done me, that I make 
My will of yours, and Prince and Lord am I 
In mine own land, and what I will I can." 
Then like a ghost she lifted up her face, 
But like a ghost without the power to speak. 
And Lancelot saw that she withheld her wish, 
And bode among them yet a little space 
Till he should learn it ; and one morn it chanced 
He found her in among the garden yews, 



LANCELOT AXD ELALNE. 213 

And said, ''Delay no longer, speak your wish, 

Seeing I go to-day : " then out she brake : 

" Going? and we shall never see you more. 

And I must die for want of one bold word." 

" Speak : that I live to hear,'' he said, " is yours." 

Then suddenly and passionately she spoke : 

" I have gone mad. I love you : let me die." 

"Ah, sister," answer'd Lancelot, "what is this?" 

And innocently extending her white arms, 

" Your love," she said, " your love — to be your wife." 

And Lancelot answer'd, " Had I chosen to wed, 

I had been wedded earlier, sweet Elaine : 

But now there never will be wife of mine." 

" No, no," she cried, " I care not to be wife. 

But to be with you still, to see your face. 

To serve you, and to follow you thro' the world." 

And Lancelot answer'd, " Nay, the world, the world, 

All ear and eye, with such a stupid heart 

To interpret ear and eye, and such a tongue 

To blare its own interpretation — nay, 

Full ill then should I quit your brothers love. 

And your good father's kindness." And she said, 

" Not to be with you, not to see your face — 

Alas for me then, my good days are done." 

" Nay, noble maid," he answer'd, " ten times nay! 

This is not love : but love's first flash in youth. 

Most common : yea, I know it of mine own self: 

And you yourself will smile at your own self 

Hereafter, when you yield your flower of life 

To one more fitly yours, not thrice your age : 

And then will I, for true you are and sweet 



214 LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

Beyond mine old belief in womanhood, 
More specially should your good knight be poor, 
Endow you with broad land and territory 
Even to the half my realm beyond the seas, 
So that would make you happy : furthermore, 
Ev'n to the death, as tho' ye were my blood, 
In all your quarrels will I be your knight. 
This will I do, dear damsel, for your sake, 
And more than this I cannot." 

While he spoke 
She neither blush'd nor shook, but deathly-pale 
Stood grasping what was nearest, then replied : 
" Of all this will I nothing ; " and so fell, 
And thus they bore her swooning to her tower. 

Then spake, to whom thro' those black walls of 
yew 
Their talk had pierced, her father : " Ay, a flash, 
I fear me, that will strike my blossom dead. 
Too courteous are ye, fair Lord Lancelot. 
I pray you, use some rough discourtesy 
To blunt or break her passion." 

Lancelot said, 
" That were against me : what I can I will ; " 
And there that day remained, and toward even 
Sent for his shield : full meekly rose the maid, 
Stript off the case, and gave the naked shield ; 
Then, when she heard his horse upon the stones, 
Unclasping flung the casement back, and look'd 



LANCELOT AND ELALNE. 215 

Down on his helm, from which her sleeve had gone. 

And LanceJot knew the little clinking sound ; 

And she by tact of love was well aware 

Then Lancelot knew that she was looking at him. 

And yet he glanced not up, nor waved his hand, 

Nor bad farewell, but sadly rc<de away. 

This was the one discourtesy that he used. 

So in her tower alone the maiden sat : 
His very shield was gone ; only the case, 
Her own poor work, her empty labour, left. 
But still she heard him, still his picture form'd 
And grew between her and the pictured wall. 
Then came her father, saying in low tones, 
" Have comfort," whom she greeted quietly. 
Then came her brethren saying, " Peace to thee, 
Sweet sister," whom she answered with all calm. 
But when they left her to herself again, 
Death, like a friend's voice from a distant field 
Approaching thro' the darkness, calPd ; the owls 
Wailing had power upon her, and she mixt 
Her fancies with the sallow-rifted glooms 
Of evening, and the moanings of the wind. 

And in those days she made a little song. 
And call'd her song " The Song of Love and 

Death," 
And sang it : sweetly could she make and sing. 

*' Sweet is true love tho' given in vain, in vain ; 
And sweet is death who puts an end to pain : 
I know not which is sweeter, no, not L 



216 LANCELOT AND ELALNE. 

" Love, art thou sweet? then bitter death must 
be: 
Love, thou art bitter ; sweet is death to me. 

Love, if death be sweeter, let me die. 

" Sweet love, that seems not made to fade away, 
Swest death, that seems to make us loveless clay, 

1 know not v^rhich is sweeter, no, not I. 

" I fain would follow love, if that could be ; 
I needs must follow death, who calls for me ; 
Call and I follow, I follow ! let me die." 

High with the last line scaled her voice, and this, 
All in a fiery dawning wild with wind 
That shook her tower, the brothers heard, and 

thought 
With shuddering, " Hark the Phantom of the house 
That ever shrieks before a death," and calPd 
The father, and all three in hurry and fear 
Ran to her, and lo ! the blood-red light of dawn 
Flared on her face, she shrilling, " Let me die ! " 

As when we dwell upon a word we know, 
Repeating, till the word we know so well 
Becomes a wonder, and we know not why, 
So dwelt the father on her face, and thought 
" Is this Elaine?" till back the maiden fell. 
Then gave a languid hand to each, and lay, 
Speaking a still good-morrow with her eyes. 
At last she said, " Sweet brothers, yesternight 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. IVl 

I seem'd a curious little maid again, 

As happy as when we dwelt among the woods, 

And when ye used to take me with the flood 

Up the great river in the boatman's boat. 

Only ye would not pass beyond the cape 

That has the poplar on it : there ye fixt 

Your limit, oft returning with the tide. 

And yet I cried because ye would not pass 

Beyond it, and far up the shining flood 

Until we found the palace of the King. 

And yet ye would not ; but this night I dream'd 

That I was all alone upon the flood, 

And then I said, ' Now shall I have my will : ' 

And there I woke, but still the wish remain'd. 

So let me hence that I may pass at last 

Beyond the poplar and far up the flood, 

Until I find the palace of the King. 

There will I enter in among them all. 

And no man there will dare to mock at me ; 

But there the fine Gawain will wonder at me, 

And there the great Sir Lancelot muse at me ; 

Gawain, who bad a thousand farewells to me, 

Lancelot, who coldly went, nor bad me one : 

And there the King will know me and my love, 

And there the Queen herself will pity me. 

And all the gentle court will welcome me. 

And after ray long voyage I shall rest ! " 

*' Peace," said her father, "O my child, ye 
seem 
Light-headed, for what force is yours to go 



218 LANCELOT AND ELALNE. 

So far, being sick? and wherefore would ye look 
On this proud fellow again, who scorns us all?" 

Then the rough Torre began to heave and move, 
And bluster into stormy sobs and say, 
" I never loved him : an I meet with him, 
I care not howsoever great he be, 
Then will I strike at him and strike him down, 
Give me good fortune, I will strike him dead. 
For this discomfort he hath done the house." 

To whom the gentle sister made reply, 
" Fret not yourself, dear brother, nor be wroth, 
Seeing it is no more Sir Lancelot's fault 
Not to love me, than it is mine to love 
Him of all men who seems to me the highest." 

" Highest? " the father answered, echoing " high- 
est?" 
(He meant to break the passion in her) " nay, 
Daughter, I know not what you call the highest; 
But this I know, for all the people know it. 
He loves the Queen, and in an open shame : 
And she returns his love in open shame ; 
If this be high, what is it to be low?" 

Then spake the lily maid of Astolat : 
" Sweet father, all too faint and sick am I 
For anger : these are slanders : never yet 
Was noble man but made ignoble talk. 
He makes no friend who never made a foe. 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 219 

But now it is my glory to have loved 

One peerless, without stain : so let me pass, 

My father, howsoe'er I seem to you, 

Not all unhappy, having loved God's best 

And greatest, tho' my love had no return : 

Yet, seeing you desire your child to live, 

Thanks, but you work against your own desire ; 

For if I could believe the things you say 

I should but die the sooner ; wherefore cease, 

Sweet father, and bid call the ghostly man 

Hither, and let me shrive me clean, and die." 

So when the ghostly man had come and gone, 
She with a face, bright as for sin forgiven, 
Besought Lavaine to write as she devised 
A letter, word for word ; and when he ask'd 
" Is it for Lancelot, is it for my dear lord? 
Then will I bear it gladly ; " she replied, 
" For Lancelot and the Queen and all the world, 
But I myself must bear it."" Then he wrote 
The letter she devised ; which being writ 
And folded, " O sweet father, tender and true. 
Deny me not," she said — " ye never yet 
Denied my fancies — this, however strange, 
My latest : lay the letter in my hand 
A little ere I die, and close the hand 
Upon it; I shall guard it even in death. 
And when the heat is gone from out my heart, 
Then take the little bed on which I died 
For Lancelot's love, and deck it like the Queen's 
For richness, and me also like the Queen 



220 LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

In all I have of rich, and lay me on it. 
And let there be prepared a chariot-bier 
To take me to the river, and a barge 
Be ready on the river, clothed in black. 
I go in state to court, to meet the Queen. 
There surely I shall speak for mine own self, 
And none of you can speak for me so well. 
And therefore let our dumb old man alone 
Go with me, he can steer and row, and he 
Will guide me to that palace, to the doors.'" 

She ceased: her father promised; whereupon 
She grew so cheerful that they deemM her death 
Was rather in the fantasy than the blood. 
But ten slow mornings past, and on the eleventh 
Her father laid the letter in her hand, 
And closed the hand upon it, and she died. 
So that day there was dole in Astolat. 

But when the next sun brake from underground, 
Then, those two brethren slowly with bent brows 
Accompanying, the sad chariot-bier 
Past like a shadow thro' the field, that shone 
Full-summer, to that stream whereon the barge, 
Paird all its length in blackest samite, lay. 
There sat the lifelong creature of the house, 
Loyal, the dumb old servitor, on deck. 
Winking his eyes, and twisted all his face. "• 
So those two brethren from the chariot took 
And on the black decks laid her in her bed, 



LANCELOT AND ELAh\E. 221 

Set in her hand a lily, o'er her hung 

The silken case with braided blazonings, 

And kiss'd her quiet brows, and saying to her 

*' Sister, farewell for ever," and again 

" Farewell, sweet sister," parted all in tears. 

Then rose the dumb old servitor, and the dead, 

Oard by the dumb, went upward with the flood — 

In her right hand the lily, in her left 

The letter — all her bright hair streaming down — 

And all the coverlid was cloth of gold 

Drawn to her waist, and she herself in white 

All but her face, and that clear-featured face 

Was lovely, for she did not seem as dead. 

But fast asleep, and lay as tho' she smiled. 



That day Sir Lancelot at the palace craved 
Audience of Guinevere, to give at last 
The price of half a realm, his costly gift, 
Hard-won and hardly won with bruise and blow, 
With deaths of others, and almost his own. 
The nine-years-fought-for diamonds : for he saw 
One of her house, and sent him to the Queen 
Bearing his wish, whereto the Queen agreed 
With such and so unmoved a majesty 
She might have seem'd her statue, but that he, 
Low-drooping till he wellnigh kiss'd her feet 
For loyal awe, saw with a sidelong eye 
The shadow of some piece of pointed lace, 
In the Queen's shadow, vibrate on the walls, 
And parted, laughing in his courtly heart. 



^?22 LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

All in an oriel on the summer side, 
Vtne-clad, ^ Arthur's palace toward the stream, 
They met, and Lancelot kneeling utterM, " Queen, 
Lady, my liege, in whom I have my joy, 
Take, what I had not won except for you, 
These jewels, and make me happy, making them 
An armlet for the roundest arm on earth. 
Or necklace for a neck to which the swan's 
Is tawnier than her cygnef s : these are words : 
YouFbeauty is your beauty, and I sin 
In speaking, yet O grant my worship of it 
Words, as we grant grjef tears. Such sin in words 
Perchance, we both can pardon': but, my Queen, 
I hear of rumours flying thro' your court. 
Our bond, as not the bond of man and wife. 
Should have in it an absoluter trust 
To make up that defect : let rumours be : 
When did not rumours fly? these, as I trust 
That you trust me in your own nobleness, 
I may not well believe that you believe." 

While thus he spoke, half turned away, the Queen 
Brake from the vast oriel-embowering vine 
Leaf after leaf, and tore, and cast them off, 
Till all the place whereon she stood was green ; 
Then, when he ceased, in one cold passive hand 
Received at once and laid aside the gems 
There on a table near her, and replied : 

" It may be, I am quicker of belief 
Than you believe me, Lancelot of the Lake. 



LANCELOT AND ELALNE. 223 

Our bond is not the bond of man and wife. . 

Tliis good is in it, whatsoe'er of ill, 

It can be broken easier. I for you 

This many a year have done despite and wrong 

To one whom ever in my heart of hearts 

I did acknowledge nobler. What are these ? 

Diamonds for me ! they had been thrice their worth 

Being your gift, had you not lost your own. 

To loyal hearts the value of all gifts 

Must vary as the giver's. Not for me ! 

For her ! for your new fancy. Only this 

Grant me, I pray you : have your joys apart. 

I doubt not that however changed, you keep 

So much of what is graceful : and myself 

Would shun to break those bounds of courtesy 

In which as Arthur's Queen I move and rule : 

So cannot speak my mind. An end to this ! 

A strange one ! yet I take it with Amen. 

So pray you, add my diamonds to her pearls ; 

Deck her with these ; tell her, she shines me 

down : 
An armlet for an arm to which the Queen's 
Is haggard, or a necklace for a neck 
O as much fairer — as a faith once fair 
Was richer than these diamonds — hers not mine — 
Nay, by the mother of our Lord himself. 
Or hers or mine, mine now to work my will — 
She shall not have them." 

Saying which she seized. 
And, thro' the casement standing wide for heat, 



224 LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

Flung them, and down they flashed, and smote the 

stream. 
Then from the smitten surface flash'd, as it were, 
Diamonds to meet them, and they past away. 
Then while Sir Lancelot leant, in half disdain 
At love, life, all things, on the window ledge, 
Close underneath his eyes, and right across 
Where these had fallen, slowly past the barge 
Whereon the lily maid of Astolat 
Lay smiling, like a star in blackest night. 

But the wild Queen, who saw not, burst away 
To weep and wail in secret ; and the barge. 
On to the palace-doorway sliding, paused. 
There two stood armM, and kept the door ; to whom, 
All up the marble stair, tier over tier. 
Were added mouths that gaped, and eyes that askM 
" What is it? " but that oarsman's haggard face, 
As hard and still as is the face that men 
Shape to their fancy's eye from broken rocks 
On some cliff-side, appall'd them, and they said, 
" He is enchanted, cannot speak — and she, 
Look how she sleeps — the Fairy Queen, so fair ! 
Yea, but how pale ! what are they? flesh and blood? 
Or come to take the King to Fairyland ? 
For some do hold our Arthur cannot die, 
But that he passes into Fairyland." 

While thus they babbled of the King, the King 
Came girt with knights : then turn'd the tongueless 
man 



LANCELOT AND ELALNE. 225 

From the half-face to the full eye, and rose 

And pointed to the damsel, and the doors. 

So Arther bad the meek Sir Percivale 

And pure Sir Galahad to uplift the maid ; 

And reverently they bore her into hall. 

Then came the fine Gawain and wonder'd at her, 

And Lancelot later came and mused at her, 

And last the Queen herself, and pitied her : 

But Arthur spied the letter in her hand, 

Stoopt, took, brake seal, and read it ; this was all : 

" Most noble lord, Sir Lancelot of the Lake, 
I, sometime calPd the maid of Astolat, 
Come, for you left me taking no farewell, 
Hither, to take my last farewell of you. 
I loved you, and my love had no return. 
And therefore my true love has been my death. 
And therefore to our Lady Guinevere, 
And to all other ladies, I make moan. 
Pray for my soul, and yield me burial. 
Pray for my soul thou too. Sir Lancelot, 
As thou art a knight peerless." 

Thus he read ; 
And ever in the reading, lords and dames 
Wept, looking often from his face who read 
To hers which lay so silent, and at times, 
So touched were they, half-thinking that her lips. 
Who had devised the letter, moved again. 

Then freely spoke Sir Lancelot to them all : 
*' My lord liege Arthur, and all ye that hear, 



226 LANCELOT AND ELALNE. 

Know that for this most gentle maiden's death 
Right heavy am I ; for good she was and true, 
But loved me with a love beyond all love 
In women, whomsoever I have known. 
Yet to be loved makes not to love again ; 
Not at my years, however it hold in youth. 
I swear by truth and knighthood that I gave 
No cause, not willingly, for such a love : 
To this I call my friends in testimony, 
Her brethren, and her father, who himself 
Besought me to be plain and blunt, and use, 
To break her passion, some discourtesy 
Against my nature : what I could, I did. 
I left her and I bad her no farewell ; 
Tho\ had I dreamt the damsel would have died, 
I might have put my wits to some rough use, 
And helpM her from herself." 

Then said the Queen 
(Sea was her wrath, yet working after storm) 
" Ye might at least have done her so much grace, 
Fair lord, as would have helpM her from her death." 
He raised his head, their eyes met and hers fell. 
He adding, 

"Queen, she would not be content 
Save that I wedded her, which could not be. 
Then might she follow me thro' the world, she 

ask'd ; 
It could not be. I told her that her love 
Was but the flash of youth, would darken down 
To rise hereafter in a stiller flame 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 227 

Toward one more worthy of her — then would I, 
More specially were he, she wedded, poor, 
Estate them with large land and territory 
In mine own realm beyond the narrow seas, 
To keep them in all joyance : more than this 
i could not ; this she would not, and she died."" 

He pausing, Arthur answered, " O my knight, 
It will be to thy worship, as my knight, 
And mine, as head of all our Table Round, 
To see that she be buried worshipfully." 

So toward that shrine which then in all the 
realm 
Was richest, Arthur leading, slowly went 
The marshall'd Order of their Table Round, 
And Lancelot sad beyond his wont, to see 
The maiden buried, not as one unknown, 
Nor meanly, but with gorgeous obsequies, 
And mass, and rolling music, like a queen. 
And when the knights had laid her comely head 
Low in the dust of half-forgotten kings. 
Then Arthur spake among them, " Let her tomb 
Be costly, and her image thereupon. 
And let the shield of Lancelot at her feet 
Be carven, and her lily in her hand. 
And let the story of her dolorous voyage 
For all true hearts be blazon'd on her tomb 
In letters gold and azure !" which was wrought 
Thereafter ; but when now the lords and dames 
And people, from the high door streaming, brake 



228 LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

Disorderly, as homeward each, the Queen, 
Who mark'd Sir Lancelot where he moved apart, 
Drew near, and sigh'd in passing, '* Lancelot, 
Forgive me ; mine was jealousy in love." 
He answer'd with his eyes upon the ground, 
" That is love's curse ; pass on, my Queen, forgiven." 
But Arthur, who beheld his cloudy brows. 
Approached him, and with full affection said, 

" Lancelot, my Lancelot, thou in whom I have 
Most joy and most affiance, for I know 
What thou hast been in battle by my side, 
And many a time have watchM thee at the tilt 
Strike down the lusty and long practised knight, 
And let the younger and unskilPd go by 
To win his honour and to make his name, 
And loved thy courtesies and thee, a man 
Made to be loved ; but now I would to God, 
Seeing the homeless trouble in thine eyes, 
Thou couldst have loved this maiden, shaped, it 

seems. 
By God for thee alone, and from her face, 
If one may judge the living by the dead, 
Delicately pure and marvellously fair, 
Who might have brought thee, now a lonely man 
Wifeless and heirless, noble issue, sons 
Born to the glory of thy name and fame, 
My knight, the great Sir Lancelot of the Lake." 

Then answer'd Lancelot, " Fair she was, my King, 
Pure, as you ever wish your knights to be. 



LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 11^ 

To doubt her fairness were to want an eye, 
To doubt her pureness were to want a heart — 
Yea, to be loved, if what is worthy love 
Could bind him, but free love will not be bound." 

"Free love, so bound, were freest," said the King, 
" Let love be free ; free love is for the best : 
And, after heaven, on our dull side of death, 
What should be best, if not so pure a love 
Clothed in so pure a loveliness? yet thee 
She fail'd to bind, tho' being, as I think. 
Unbound as yet, and gentle, as I know." 

And Lancelot answered nothing, but he went, 
And at the inrunning of a little brook 
Sat by the river in a cove, and watch'd 
The high reed wave, and lifted up his eyes 
And saw the barge that brought her moving down, 
Far-off, a blot upon the stream, and said 
Low in himself, " Ah simple heart and sweet. 
Ye loved me, damsel, surely with a love 
Far tenderer than my Queen's. Pray for thy soul? 
Ay, that will L Farewell too — now at last — 
Farewell, fair lily. ' Jealousy in love ? ' 
Not rather dead love's harsh heir, jealous pride ? 
Queen, if I grant the jealousy as of love. 
May not your crescent fear for name and fame 
Speak, as it waxes, of a love that wanes ? 
Why did the King dwell on my name to me ? 
Mine own name shames me, seeming a reproach, 
Lancelot, whom the Lady of the Lake 



230 LANCELOT AND ELAINE. 

Caught from his mother's arms — the wondrous one 

Who passes thro' the vision of the night — 

She chanted snatches of mysterious hymns 

Heard on the winding waters, eve and morn 

She kiss'd me saying, " Thou art fair, my child, 

As a king's son," and often in her arms 

She bare me, pacing on the dusky mere. 

Would she had drown'd me in it, where'er it be! 

For what am 1 1 what profits me my name 

Of greatest knight? I fought for it, and have it : 

Pleasure to have it, none ; to lose it, pain ; 

Now grown a part of me : but what use in it? 

To make men worse by making my sin known ? 

Or sin seem less, the sinner seeming great? 

Alas for Arthur's greatest knight, a man 

Not after Arthur's heart ! I needs must break 

These bonds that so defame me : not without 

She wills it: would I, if she will'd it? nay, 

Who knows ? but if I would not, then may God, 

I pray him, send a sudden Angel down 

To seize me by the hair and bear me far, 

And fling me deep in that forgotten mere. 

Among the tumbled fragments of the hills." 

So groan'd Sir Lancelot in remorseful pain. 
Not knowing he should die a holy man. 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 231 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 

From noiseful arms, and acts of prowess done 

In tournament or tilt. Sir Percivale, 

Whom Arthur and his knighthood call'd The Pure, 

Had pass'd into the silent life of prayer, ^, ,..,,/^ /tgti 

Praise, fast, and alms ; and leaving for the co\yl 

The helmet in an abbey far away 

From Camelot, there, and not long after, died. 

And one, a fellow-monk among the rest, 
Ambrosius, loved him much beyond the rest, 
And honourd him, and wrought into his heart 
A way by love that wakened love within. 
To answer that which came : and as they sat 
Beneath a world-old yew-tree, darkening half 
The cloisters, on a gustful April morn 
That puffd the swaying branches into smoke 
Above them, ere the summer when he died, 
The monk Ambrosius question'd Percivale : 

" O brother, I have seen this yew-tree smoke, 
Spring after spring, for half a hundred years : 
For never have I known the world without, 
Nor ever stray'd beyond the pale : but thee, 
When first thou camest — such a courtesy 



232 THE HOLY GRAIL. 

Spake thro' the limbs and in the voice — I knew 
For one of those who eat in Arthur's hall ; 
For good ye are and bad, and like to coins, 
Some true, some light, but every one of you 
Stamped with the image of the King ; and now 
Tell me, what drove thee from the Table Round, 
My brother? was it earthly fission crost? " 

"Nay," said the knight; "for no such passion 
mine. 
But the sweet vision of the Holy Grail 
Drove me from all vainglories, rivalries. 
And earthly heats that spring and sparkle out 
Among us in the jousts, while women watch 
Who wins, who falls ; and waste the spiritual strength 
Within us, better offer'd up to Heaven." 

To whom the monk : '* The Holy Grail ! — I trust 
We are green in Heaven's eyesjj but here too much 
We moulder — as to things without I mean — 
Yet one of your own knights, a guest of ours. 
Told us of this in our refectory, 
But spake with such a sadness and so low 
We heard not half of what he said. What is it? 
The phantom of a cup that comes and goes?" 

" Nay, monk ! what phantom ? " answer'd Percivale. 
" The cup, the cup itself, from which our Lord 
Drank at the last sad supper with his own. 
This, from the blessed land of Aromat — 
After the day of darkness, when the dead 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 233 

Went wandering o'er Moriah — the good saint 
Arimathaean Joseph, journeying brought 
To Glastonbury, where the winter thorn 
Blossoms at Christmas, mindful of our Lord. 
And there awhile it bode ; and if a man 
Could touch or see it, he was heaPd at once. 
By faith, of all his ills. But then the times 
Grew to such evil that the holy cup 
Was caught away to Heaven, and disappeared," 

To whom the monk : " From our old books I know 
That Joseph came of old to Glastonbury, 
And there the heathen Prince, Arviragus, 
Gave him an isle of marsh whereon to build ; 
And there he built with wattles from the marsh 
A little lonely church in days of yore, 
For so they say, these books of ours, but seem 
Mute of this miracle, far as I have read. 
But who first saw the holy thing to-day ? " 

" A woman," answer'd Percivale, "a nun, 
And one no further off in blood from me 
Than sister ; and if ever holy maid 
With knees of adoration wore the stone, 
A holy maid ; tho' never maiden glow'd. 
But that was in her earlier maidenhood, 
With such a fervent flame of human love, 
Which being rudely blunted, glanced and shot 
Only to holy things ; to prayer and praise 
She gave herself, to fast and alms. And yet, 
Nun as she was, the scandal of the Court, 



234 THE HOLY GRAIL. 

Sin against Arthur and the Table Round, 
And the strange sound of an adulterous race, 
Across the iron grating of her cell 
Beat, and she pray'd and fasted all the more. 

"And he to whom she told her sins, or what 
Her all but utter whiteness held for sin, 
A man wellnigh a hundred winters old, 
Spake often with her of the Holy Grail, 
A legend handed down thro' five or six, 
And each of these a hundred winters old, 
From our Lord's time. And when King Arthur made 
His Table Round, and all men's hearts became 
Clean for a season, surely he had thought 
That now the Holy Grail would come again ; 
But sin broke out. Ah, Christ, that it would come, 
And heal the world of all their wickedness ! 
' O Father ! ' ask'd the maiden, ' might it come 
To me by prayer and fasting? ' * Nay,' said he, 
' I know not, for thy heart is pure as snow.' 
And so she pray'd and fasted, till the sun 
Shone, and the wind blew, thro' her, and I thought 
She might have risen and floated when I saw her. 

" For on a day she sent to speak with me. 
And when she came to speak, behold her eyes 
Beyond my knowing of them, beautiful. 
Beyond all knowing of them, wonderful, 
Beautiful in the light of holiness. 
And ' O my brother Percivale,' she said, 
' Sweet brother, I have seen the Holy Grail : 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 235 

For, waked at dead of night, I heard a sound 

As of a silver horn from o'er the hills 

Blown, and I thought, " It is not Arthurs use 

To hunt by moonlight ; " and the slender sound 

As from a distance beyond distance grew 

Coming upon me — O never harp nor horn, 

Nor aught we blow with breath, or touch with hand, 

Was like that music as it came ; and then 

Stream'd thro' my cell a cold and silver beam. 

And down the long beam stole the Holy Grail, 

Rose-red with beatings in it, as if alive, 

Till all the white walls of my cell were dyed 

With rosy colours leaping on the wall ; 

And then the music faded, and the Grail 

Past, and the beam decayed, and from the walls 

The rosy quiverings died into the night. 

So now the Holy Thing is here again 

Among us, brother, fast thou too and pray, 

And tell thy brother knights to fast and pray, 

That so perchance the vision may be seen 

By thee and those, and all the world be heaPd.' 

" Then leaving the pale nun, I spake of this 
To all men ; and myself fasted and pray'd 
Always, and many among us many a week 
Fasted and pray'd even to the uttermost. 
Expectant of the wonder that would be. 

" And one there was among us, ever moved 
Among us in white armour, Galahad. 
' God make thee good as thou art beautiful,' 



236 THE HOLY GRAIL. 

Said Arthur, when he dubb'd him knight ; and 

none, 
In so young youth, was ever made a knight 
Till Galahad ; and this Galahad, when he heard 
JVly sister's vision, filPd me with amaze ; 
His eyes became so like her own, they seem'd 
Hers, and himself her brother more than I. 

" Sister or brother none had he ; but some 
Caird him a son of Lancelot, and some said 
Begotten by encliantment — chatterers they, 
Like birds of passage piping up and down. 
That gape for flies — we know not whence they 

come ; 
For when was Lancelot wanderingly lewd ? 

" But she, the wan sweet maiden, shore away 
Clean from her forehead all that wealth of hair 
Which made a silken mat-work for her feet ; 
And out of this she plaited broad and long 
A strong sword-belt, and wove with silver thread 
And crimson in the belt a strange device, 
A crimson grail within a silver beam ; 
And saw the bright boy-knight, and bound it on him. 
Saying, 'My knight, my love, my knight of heaven, 
O thou, my love, whose love is one with mine, 
I, maiden, round thee, maiden, bind my belt. 
Go forth, for thou shalt see what I have seen, 
And break thro' all, till one will crown thee king 
Far in the spiritual city : ' and as she spake 
She sent the deathless passion in her eyes 



THE HOLY GRAIL. IZl 

Thro^ him, and made him hers, and laid her mind 
On him, and he believed in her belief. 

*' Then came a year of miracle : O brother, 
In our great hall there stood a vacant chair, 
Fashioned by Merlin ere he past away. 
And carven with strange figures ; and in and out 
The figures, like a serpent, ran a scroll 
Of letters in a tongue no man could read. 
And Merlin calFd it ' The Siege perilous,' 
Perilous for good and ill ; ' for there,' he said, 
' No man could sit but he should lose himself: ' 
And once by misadvertence Merlin sat 
In his own chair, and so was lost; but he, 
Galahad, when he heard of Merlin's doom. 
Cried, ' If I lose myself, I save myself! ' 

" Then on a summer night it came to pass, 
While the great banquet lay along the hall. 
That Galahad would sit down in Merlin's chair. 

" And all at once, as there we sat, we heard 
A cracking and a riving of the roofs, 
And rending, and a blast, and overhead 
Thunder, and in the thunder was a cry. 
And in the blast there smote along the hall 
A beam of light seven times more clear than day : 
And down the long beam stole the Holy Grail 
All over cover'd with a luminous cloud, 
And none might see who bare it, and it past. 
But every knight beheld his fellow's face 



238 THE HOLY GRAIL. 

As in a glory, and all the knights arose, 
And staring each at other like dumb men 
Stood, till I found a voice and sware a vow. 

" I sware a vow before them all, that I, 
Because I had not seen the Grail, would ride 
A twelvemonth and a day in quest of it, 
Until I found and saw it, as the nun 
My sister saw it ; and Galahad sware the vow, 
And good Sir Bors, our Lancelot's cousin, sware, 
And Lancelot sware, and many among the knights, 
And Gawain sware, and louder than the rest." 

Then spake the monk Ambrosius, asking him, 
" What said the King? Did Arthur take the vow.? " 

" Nay, for my lord," said Percivale, " the King, 
Was not in hall : for early that same day. 
Scaped thro' a cavern from a bandit hold,' 
An outraged maiden sprang into the hall 
Crying on help : for all her shining hair 
Was smear'd with earth, and either milky arm 
Red-rent with hooks of bramble, and all she wore 
Torn as a sail that leaves the rope is torn 
In tempest : so the King arose and went 
To smoke the scandalous hive of those wild bees 
That made such honey in his realm. Howbeit 
Some little of this marvel he too saw 
Returning o'er the plain that then began 
To darken under Camelot ; whence the King 
Look'd up, calling aloud, ' Lo, there ! the roofs 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 239 

Of our great hall are rolPd in thunder-smoke ! 
Pray Heaven, they be not smitten by the bolt.' 
For dear to Arthur was that hall of ours, 
As having there so oft with all his knights 
Feasted, and as the stateliest under heaven. 



" O brother, had you known our mighty hall, 
Which Merlin built for Arthur long ago ! 
For all the sacred mount of Camelot, 
And all the dim rich city, roof by roof, * 

Tower after tower, spire beyond spire, 
By grove, and garden-lawn, and rushing brook, 
Climbs to the mighty hall that Merlin built. 
And four great zones of sculpture, set betwixt 
With many a mystic symbol, gird the hall : 
And in the lowest beasts are slaying men, 
And in the second men are slaying beasts, 
And on the third are warriors, perfect men. 
And on the fourth are men with growing wings, 
And over all one statue in the mould 
Of Arthur, made by Merlin, with a crown. 
And peak'd wings pointed to the Northern Star. 
And eastward fronts the statue, and the crown 
And both the wings are made of gold, and flame 
At sunrise till the people in far fields. 
Wasted so often by the heathen hordes. 
Behold it, crying, ' We have still a King.' 

"And, brother, had you known our hall within, 
Broader and higher than any in all the lands ! 
Where twelve great windows blazon Arthur's wars,^ • 



240 THE HOLY GRAIL. 

And all the light that falls upon the board 
Streams thro' the twelve great battles of our King. 
Nay, one there is, and at the eastern end, 
Wealthy with wandering Hues of mount and mere, 
Where Arthur finds the brand Excalibur. 
And also one to the west, and counter to it, 
And blank: and who shall blazon it? when and 

how? — 
O there, perchance, when all our wars are done, 
The brand Excalibur will be cast away. 

" So to this hall full quickly rode the King, 
In horror lest the work by Merlin wrought, 
Dreamlike, should on the sudden vanish, wrapt 
In unremorseful folds of rolHng fire. 
And in he rode, and up I glanced, and saw 
The golden dragon sparkling over all : 
And many of those who burnt the hold, their arms 
Hack'd, and their foreheads grimed with smoke, 

and sear'd, 
FollowM, and in among bright faces, ours, 
Full of the vision, prest : and then the King 
Spake to me, being nearest, ' Percivale,' 
(Because the hall was all in tumult — some 
Vowing, and some protesting), 'what is this?' 

" O brother, when I told him what had chanced, 
My sister's vision, and the rest, his face 
Darkened, as I have seen it more than once. 
When some brave deed seem'd to be done in vain, 
Darken ; and 'Woe is me, my knights,' he cried, 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 241 

' Had I been here, ye had not sworn the vow.' 
Bold was mine answer, ' Had thyself been here, 
My King, thou wouldst have sworn.' 'Yea, yea,' 

said he, 
' Art thou so bold and hast not seen the Grail ? ' 

" ' Nay, lord, I heard the sound, I saw the light, 
But since I did not see the Holy Thing, 
I sware a vow to follow it till I saw.' 

" Then when he ask'd us, knight by knight, if any 
Had seen it, all their answers were as one : 
' Nay, lord, and therefore have we sworn our vows.' 

" ' Lo now,' said Arthur, ' have ye seen a cloud? 
What go ye into the wilderness to see ? ' 

" Then Galahad on the sudden, and in a voice 
Shrilling along the hall to Arthur, call'd, 
' But I, Sir Arthur, saw the Holy Grail, 
I saw the Holy Grail and heard a cry — 
" O Galahad, and O Galahad, follow me." ' 

" ' Ah, Galahad, Galahad,' said the King, ' for such 
As thou art is the vision, not for these. 
Thy holy nun and thou have seen a sign — 
Holier is none, my Percivale, than she — 
A sign to maim this Order which I made. 
But ye, that follow but the leader's bell ' 
(Brother, the King was hard upon his knights) 
' Taliessin is our fullest throat of song, 



242 THE HOLY GRAIL. 

And one hath sung and all the dumb will sing. 

Lancelot is Lancelot, and hath overborne 

Five knights at once, and every younger knight, 

Unproven, holds himself as Lancelot, 

Till overborne by one, he learns — and ye, 

What are ye ? Galahads ? — no, nor Percivales ' 

(For thus it pleased the King to range me close 

After Sir Galahad) ; ' nay,' said he, ' but men 

With strength and will to right the wrong'd, of power 

To lay the sudden heads of violence flat, 

Knights that in twelve great battles splashM and 

dyed 
The strong White Horse in his own heathen blood — 
But one hath seen, and all the blind will see. 
Go, since your vows are sacred, being made : 
Yet — for ye know the cries of all my realm 
Pass thro' this hall — how often, O my knights, 
Your places being vacant at my side, 
This chance of noble deeds will come and go 
Unchallenged, while ye follow wandering fires 
Lost in the quagmire ! Many of you, yea most, 
Return no more : ye think I show myself 
Too dark a prophet : come now, let us meet 
The morrow morn once more in one full field 
Of gracious pastime, that once more the King, 
Before ye leave him for this Quest, may count 
The yet-unbroken strength of all his knights, 
Rejoicing in that Order which he made.' 

" So when the sun broke next from under ground, 
All the great table of our Arthur closed 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 243 

And clashed in such a tourney and so full, 

So many lances broken — never yet 

Had Camelot seen the like, since Arthur came ; 

And I myself and Galahad, for a strength 

Was in us from the vision, overthrew 

So many knights that all the people cried. 

And almost burst the barriers in their heat, 

Shouting, ' Sir Galahad and Sir Percivale ! ' 

"But when the next day brake from under 

ground — 
O brother, had you known our Camelot, 
Built by old kings, age after age, so old 
The King himself had fears that it would fall, 
So strange, and rich, and dim ; for where the roofs 
TotterM toward each other in the sky, 
Met foreheads all along the street of those 
Who watch'd us pass ; and lower, and where the 

long 
Rich galleries, lady-laden, weighed the necks 
Of dragons clinging to the crazy walls, 
Thicker than drops from thunder, showers of flowers 
Fell as we past ; and men and boys astride 
On wyvern, lion, dragon, griffin, swan, 
At all the corners, named us each by name, 
Calling ' God speed I ' but in the ways below 
The knights and ladies wept, and rich and poor 
Wept, and the King himself could hardly speak 
For grief, and all in middle street the Queen, 
Who rode by Lancelot, waiPd and shriek'd aloud, 
' This madness has come on us for our sins.' 



?44 THE HOLY GRAIL. 

So to the Gate of the three Queens we came, 
Where Arthur's wars are rendered mystically, 
And thence departed every one his way. 

" And I was hfted up in heart, and thought 
Of all my late-shown prowess in the lists, 
How my strong lance had beaten down the knights, 
So many and famous names ; and never yet 
Had heaven appeared so blue, nor earth so gretn, 
For all my blood danced in me, and I knew 
That I should light upon the Holy Grail. 

" Thereafter, the dark warning of our King, 
That most of us would follow wandering fires, 
Came like a driving gloom across my mind. 
Then every evil word I had spoken once. 
And every evil thought I had thought of old, 
And every evil deed I ever did, 
Awoke and cried, ' This Quest is not for thee.' 
And lifting up mine eyes, I found myself 
Alone, and in a land of sand and thorns. 
And I was thirsty even unto death; 
And I, too, cried, ' This Quest is not for thee.' 

"And on I rode, and when I thought my thirst 
Would slay me, saw deep lawns, and then a brook, 
With one sharp rapid, where the crisping white 
PlayM ever back upon the sloping wave, 
And took both ear and eye ; and o'er the brook 
Were apple-trees, and apples by the brook 
Fallen, and on the lawns. ' I will rest here,' 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 245 

I said, ' I am not worthy of the Quest ; ' 
But even while I drank the brook, and ate 
The goodly apples, all these things at once 
Fell into dust, and I was left alone. 
And thirsting, in a land of sand and thorns. 

" And then behold a woman at a door 
Spinning ; and fair the house whereby she sat, 
And kind the woman's eyes and innocent, 
And all her bearing gracious ; and she rose 
Opening her arms to meet me, as who should say, 
' Rest here ; ' but when I touched her, lo ! she, too, 
Fell into dust and nothing, and the house 
Became no better than a broken shed, 
And in it a dead babe ; and also this 
Fell into dust, and I was left alone. 

"And on I rode, and greater was my thirst. 
Then flashed a yellow gleam across the world. 
And where it smote the plowshare in the field, 
The plowman left his plowing, and fell down 
Before it ; where it glittered on her pail. 
The milkmaid left her milking, and fell down 
Before it, and I knew not why, but thought 
' The sun is rising,' tho' the sun had risen. 
Then was I ware of one that on me moved 
In golden armour with a crown of gold 
About aj:asque all jewels ; and his horse 
In golden armour jewell'd everywhere : 
And on the splendour came, flashing me blind; 
And seem'd to me the Lord of all the world, 



246 THE HOLY GRAIL. 

Being so huge. But when I thought he meant 
To crush me, moving on me, lo ! he, too, 
OpenM his arms to embrace me as he came, 
And up I went and touched him, and he, too. 
Fell into dust, and I was left alone 
And wearying in a land of sand and thorns. 

" And I rode on and found a mighty hill. 
And on the top, a city walPd : the spires 
Prick'd with incredible pinnacles into heaven. 
And by the gateway stirr'd a crowd ; and these 
Cried to me climbing, 'Welcome, Percivale! 
Thou mightiest and thou purest among men ! ' 
And glad was I and clomb, but found at top 
No man, nor any voice. And thence I past 
Far thro' a ruinous city, and I saw 
That man had once dwelt there ; but there I found 
Only one man of an exceeding age. 
' Where is that goodly company,' said I, 
' That so cried out upon me ? ' and he had 
Scarce any voice to answer, and yet gasp'd, 
'Whence and what art thou?' and even as he 

spoke 
Fell into dust, and disappear'd, and I 
Was left alone once more, and cried in grief, 
' Lo, if I find the Holy Grail itself 
And touch it, it will crumble into dust.' 

" And thence I dropt into a lowly vale, 
Low as the hill was high, and where the vale 
Was lowest, found a chapel, and thereby 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 247 

A holy hermit in a hermitage, 

To whom I told my phantoms, and he said : 

" ' O son, thou hast not true humility, 
The highest virtue, mother of them all ; 
For when the Lord of all things made Himself 
Naked of glory for His mortal change, 
" Take thou my robe," she said, " for all is thine," 
And all her form shone forth with sudden light 
So that the angels were amazed, and she 
Follow'd Him down, and like a flying star 
Led on the gray-hair'd wisdom of the east ; 
But her thou hast not known : for what is this 
Thou thoughtest of thy prowess and thy sins? 
Thou hast not lost thyself to save thyself 
As Galahad.' When the hermit made an end. 
In silver armour suddenly Galahad shone 
Before us, and against the chapel door 
Laid lance, and enter'd, And we kne.Lt in prayer. 
And there the hermit slakeH my burning thirst, 
And at the ^cring of the mass I saw 
The holy elements alone ; but he, 
' Saw ye no more? I, Galahad, saw the Grail, 
The Holy Grail, descend upon the shrine : 
I saw the fiery face as of a child 
That smote itself into the bread, and went; 
And hither am I come ; and never yet 
Hath what thy sister taught me first to see, 
This Holy Thing, faiPd from my side, nor come 
Cover'd, but moving with me night and day, 
Fainter by day, but always in the night 



248 THE HOLY GRAIL. 

Blood-red, and sliding down the blacken'd marsh 
Blood-red, and on the naked mountain top 
Blood-red, and in the sleeping mere below 
Blood-red. And in the strength of this I rode, 
Shattering all evil customs everywhere. 
And past thro' Pagan realms, and made them mine, 
And clash'd with Pagan hordes, and bore them 

down. 
And broke thro' all, and in the strength of this 
Come victor. But my time is hard at hand. 
And hence I go ; and one will crown me king 
Far in the spiritual city ; and come thou, too, 
For thou shalt see the vision when I go.' 

"While thus he spake, his eye, dwelHng on mine, 
Drew me, with power upon me, till I grew 
One with him, to believe as he believed. 
Then, when the day began to wane, we went. 

" There rose a hill that none but man could climb, 
Scarr'd with a hundred wintry water-courses — 
Storm at the top, and when we gain'd it, storm 
Round us and death ; for every moment glanced 
His silver arms and gloom'd : so quick and thick 
The lightnings here and there to left and right 
Struck, till the dry old trunks about us, dead, 
Yea, rotten with a hundred years of death, 
Sprang into fire : and at the base we found 
On either hand, as far as eye could see, 
A great black swamp and of an evil smell. 
Part black, part whiten'd with the bones of men. 
Not to be crost, save that some ancient king 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 249 

Had built a way, where, link'd with many a bridge, 

A thousand piers ran into the great Sea. 

And Galahad fled along them bridge by bridge, 

And every bridge as quickly as he crost 

Sprang into fire and vanish'd, tho' I yearn'd 

To follow ; and thrice above him all the heavens 

Opened and blazed with thunder such as seem'd 

Shoutings of all the sons of God : and first 

At once I saw him far on the great Sea, 

In silver-shining armour starry-clear; 

And o'er his head the Holy Vessel hung 

Clothed in white samite or a luminous cloud. 

And with exceeding swiftness ran the boat, 

If boat it were — I saw not whence it came. 

And when the heavens opened and blazed again 

Roaring, I saw him like a silver star — 

And had he set the sail, or had the boat 

Become a living creature clad with wings ? 

And o'er his head the Holy Vessel hung 

Redder than any rose, a joy to me. 

For now I knew the veil had been withdrawn. 

Then in a moment when they blazed again 

Opening, I saw the least of little stars 

Down on the waste, and straight beyond the star 

I saw the spiritual city and all her spires 

And gateways in a glory like one pearl — 

No larger, tho' the goal of all the saints — 

Strike from the sea ; and from the star there shot 

A rose-red sparkle to the city, and there 

Dwelt, and I knew it was the Holy Grail, 

Which never eyes on earth again shall see. 



250 THE HOLY GRAIL. 

Then fell the floods of heaven drowning the deep. 
And how my feet recrost the deathful ridge 
No memory in me lives ; but that I touch'd 
The chapel-doors at dawn I know ; and thence 
Taking my war-horse from the holy man, 
Glad that no phantom vext me more, returned 
To whence I came, the gate of Arthur's wars." 

" O brother," ask'd Ambrosius, — "for in sooth 
These ancient books — and they would win thee - 

teem, 
Only I find not there this Holy Grail, 
With miracles and marvels like to these. 
Not all unlike ; which oftentime I read, 
Who read but on my breviary with ease, 
Till my head swims ; and then go forth and pass 
Down to the little thorpe that lies so close, ^ 

And almost plastered like a martin's nest 
To these old walls — and mingle with our folk ; 
And knowing every honest face of theirs 
As well as ever shepherd knew his sheep, 
And every homely secret in their hearts, 
Delight myself with gossip and old wives, 
And ills and aches, and teethings, lyings-in, 
And mirthful sayings, children of the place, 
That have no meaning half a league away : 
Or lulling random squabbles when they rise, 
Chaiferings and chatterings at the market-cross. 
Rejoice, small man, in this small world of mine, 
Yea, even in their hens and in their eggs — 
O brother, saving this Sir Galahad, 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 251 

Came ye on none but phantoms in your quest, 
No man, no woman?" 

Then Sir Percivale : 
"All men, to one so bound by such a vow, 
And women were as phantoms. O, my brother, 
Why wilt thou shame me to confess to thee 
How far I falter'd from my quest and vow? 
For after I had lain so many nights, 
A bedmate of the snail and eft and snake, 
In grass and burdock, I was changed to wan 
And meagre, and the vision had not come ; 
And then I chanced upon a goodly town 
With one great dwelling in the middle of it ; 
Thither I made, and there was I disarmed 
By maidens each as fair as any flower : 
But when they led me into hall, behold. 
The Princess of that castle was the one, 
Brother, and that one only, who had ever 
Made my heart leap ; for when I moved of old 
A slender page about her father's hall, 
And she a slender maiden, all my heart 
Went after her with longing : yet we twain 
Had never kissM a kiss, or vow'd a vow. 
And now I came upon her once again, 
And one had wedded her, and he was dead, 
And all his land and wealth and state were hers. 
And while I tarried, every day she set 
A banquet richer than the day before 
By me ; for all her longing and her will 
Was toward me as of old ; till one fair morn, 



252 THE HOLY GRAIL. 

I walking to and fro beside a stream 

That flashed across her orchard underneath 

Her castle-walls, she stole upon my walk, 

And calling me the greatest of all knights, 

Embraced me, and so kiss'd me the first time, 

And gave herself and all her wealth to me. 

Then I remembered Arthur's warning word, 

That most of us would follow wandering fires, 

And the Quest faded in my heart. Anon, 

The heads of all her people drew to me. 

With supplication both of knees and tongue : 

' We have heard of thee : thou art our greatest knight, 

Our Lady says it, and we well believe : 

Wed thou our Lady, and rule over us. 

And thou shalt be as Arthur in our land.' 

O me, my brother ! but one night my vow 

Burnt me within, so that I rose and fled, 

But waird and wept, and hated mine own self, 

And ev'n the Holy Quest, and all but her ; 

Then after I was join'd with Galahad 

Cared not for her, nor anything upon earth." 

Then said the monk, " Poor men, when yule is 
cold, 
Must be content to sit by little fires. 
And this am I, so that ye care for me 
Ever so little ; yea, and blest be Heaven 
That brought thee here to this poor house of ours 
Where all the brethren are so hard, to warm 
My cold heart with a friend : but O the pity 
To find thine own first love once more — to hold, 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 253 

Hold her a wealthy bride within thine arms, 

Or all but hold, and then — cast her aside, 

Foregoing all her sweetness, like a weed. 

For we that want the warmth of double life, 

We that are plagued with dreams of something sweet 

Beyond all sweetness in a life so rich, — 

Ah, blessed Lord, I speak too earthlywise, 

Seeing I never stray'd beyond the cell, 

But live like an old badger in his earth. 

With earth about him everywhere, despite 

All fast and penance. Saw ye none beside, 

None of your knights t " 

"Yea so," said Percivale : 
" One night my pathway swerving east, I saw 
The pelican on the casque of our Sir Bors 
All in the mJddle of the rising moon : 
And toward him spurred, and haiPd him, and he me, 
And each made joy of either ; then he askM, 
'Where is he? hast thou seen him — Lancelot? — 

Once,' 
Said good Sir Bors, 'he dash'd across me — mad, 
And maddening what he rode : and when I cried, 
" Ridest thou then so hotly on a quest 
So holy," Lancelot shouted, " Stay me not ! 
I have been the sluggard, and I ride apace, 
For now there is a lion in the way." 
So vanished.' 

" Then Sir Bors had ridden on 
Softly, and sorrowing for our Lancelot, 



254 THE HOLY GRAIL. 

Because his former madness, once the talk 
And scandal of our table, had returned ; 
For Lancelot's kith and kin so worship him 
That ill to him is ill to them ; to Bors 
Beyond the rest : he well had been content 
Not to have seen, so Lancelot might have seen, 
The Holy Cup of healing; and, indeed, 
Being so clouded with his grief and love, 
Small heart was his after the Holy Quest : 
If God would send the vision, well : if not, 
The Quest and he were in the hands of Heaven. 

" And then, with small adventure met, Sir Bors 
Rode to the lonest tract of all the realm, 
And found a people there among their crags, 
Our race and blood, a remnant that were left 
Paynim amid their circles, and the stones 
They pitch up straight to heaven : and their wise 

men 
Were strong in that old magic which can trace 
The wandering of the stars, and scoff 'd at him 
And this high Quest as at a simple thing : 
Told him he followed — almost Arthur's words — 
A mocking fire : '■ what other fire than he. 
Whereby the blood beats, and the blossom blows, 
And the sea rolls, and all the world is warm'd? ' 
And when his answer chafed them, the rough crowd. 
Hearing he had a difference with their priests. 
Seized him, and bound and plunged him into a cell 
Of great piled stones ; and lying bounden there 
In darkness thro' innumerable hours 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 255. 

He heard the hollow-ringing heaven sweep 
Over him till by miracle — what else? — 
Heavy as it was, a great stone slipt and fell, 
Such as no wind could move : and thro' the gap, , 
GlimmerM the streaming S'ciid : then came a night 
Still as the day was loud ; and thro' the gap 
The seven clear stars of Arthur's Table Round — 
For, brother, so one night, because they roll 
Thro' such a round in heaven, we named the stars, 
Rejoicing in ourselves and in our King — 
And these, like bright eyes of familiar Inends, 
In on him shone : 'And then to me, to me,' 
Said good Sir Bors, ' beyond all hopes of mine, 
Who scarce had pray'd or ask'd it for myself — 
Across the seven clear stars — O grace to me — 
In colour like the fingers of a hand 
Before a burning taper, the sweet Grail 
Glided and past, and close upon it peal'd 
A sharp quick thunder.' Afterwards, a maid, 
Who kept our holy faith among her kin 
In secret, entering, loosed and let him go." 

To whom the monk : " And I remember now 
That pelican on the casque : Sir Bors it was 
Who spake so low and sadly at our board ; 
And mighty reverent at our grace was he : 
A square-set man and honest ; and his eyes, 
An out-door sign of all the warmth within, 
Smiled with his lips — a smile beneath a cloud, 
But heaven had meant it for a sunny one : 
Ay, ay. Sir Bors, who else? But when ye reach'd 



256 THE HOLY GRAIL. 

The city, found ye all your knights return'd, 
Or was there sooth in Arthur's prophecy, 
Tell me, and what said each, and what the 
King?" 

Then answered Percivale : " And that can I, 
Brother, and truly ; since the living words 
Of so great men as Lancelot and our King 
Pass not from door to door and out again, 
But sit within the house. O, when we reach'd 
The city, our horses stumbling as they trode 
On heaps of ruin, hornless unicorns. 
Cracked basilisks, and splintered cockatrices. 
And shattered talbots, which had left the stones 
Raw, that they fell from, brought us to the hall. 

" And there sat Arthur on the dais-throne, 
And those that had gone out upon the Quest, 
Wasted and worn, and but a tithe of them. 
And those that had not, stood before the King, 
Who, when he saw me, rose, and bad me hail, 
Saying, ' A welfare in thine eye reproves 
Our fear of some disastrous chance for thee 
On hill, or plain, at sea, or flooding ford. 
So fierce a gale made havoc here of late 
Among the strange devices of our kings ; 
Yea, shook this newer, stronger hall of ours, 
And from the statue Merlin moulded for us 
Half-wrench'd a golden wing; but now— the Quest, 
This vision — hast thou seen the Holy Cup, 
That Joseph brought of old to Glastonbury?' 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 257 

" So when I told him all thyself hast heard, 
Ambrosius, and my fresh but fixt resolve 
To pass away into the quiet life, 
He answered not, but, sharply turning, askM 
Of Gawain, ' Gawain, was this Quest for thee? ' 

" ' Nay, lord,' said Gawain, ' not for such as I. 
Therefore I communed with a saintly man. 
Who made me sure the Quest was not for me ; 
For I was much awearied of the Quest : 
But found a silk pavilion in a field, 
And merry maidens in it ; and then this gale 
Tore my pavilion from the tenting-pin. 
And blew my merry maidens all about 
With all discomfort ; yea, and but for this, 
My twelvemonth and a day were pleasant to me.' 

" He ceased ; and Arthur turn'd to whom at first 
He saw not, for Sir Bors, on entering, push'd 
Athwart the throng to Lancelot, caught his hand, 
Held it, and there, half-hidden by him, stood, 
Until the King espied him, saying to him. 
' Hail, Bors ! if ever loyal man and true 
Could see it, thou hast seen the Grail ; ' and Bors, 
' Ask me not, for I may not speak of it : 
I saw it ; ' and the tears were in his eyes. 

" Then there remain'd but Lancelot, for the rest 
Spake but of sundry perils in the storm ; 
Perhaps, like him of Cana in Holy Writ, 
Our Arthur kept his best until the last ; ' 



258 THE HOLY GRAIL. 

' Thou, too, my Lancelot,' ask'd the King, ' my 

friend, 
Our mightiest, hath this Quest availed for thee? ' 

" ' Our mightiest ! ' answered Lancelot, with a 

groan ; 
' O King ! ' — and when he paused, methought I 

spied 
A dying fire of madness in his eyes — 
* O King, my friend, if friend of thine I be, 
Happier are those that welter in their sin. 
Swine in the mud, that cannot see for slime, 
Slime of the ditch : but in me lived a sin 
So strange, of such a kind, that all of pure. 
Noble, and knightly in me twined and clung 
Round that one sin, until the wholesome flower 
And poisonous grew together, each as each. 
Not to be pluck'd asunder ; and when thy knights 
Sware, I sware with them only in the hope 
That could I touch or see the Holy Grail 
They might be pluck'd asunder. Then I spake 
To one most holy saint, who wept and said, 
That save they could be pluck'd asunder, all 
My quest were but in vain ; to whom I vow'd 
That I would work according as he wiird. 
And forth I went, and while I yearn'd and strove 
To tear the twain asunder in my heart. 
My madness came upon me as of old, 
And whipt me into waste fields far away ; 
There was I beaten down by little men, 
Mean knights, to whom the moving of my sword 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 259 

And shadow of my spear had been enow 

To scare them from me once ; and then I came 

All in my folly to the naked shore, 

Wide flats, where nothing but coarse grasses grew ; 

But such a blast, my King, began to blow. 

So loud a blast along the shore and sea, 

Ye could not hear the waters for the blast, 

Tho' heapt in mounds and ridges all the sea 

Drove like a cataract, and all the sand 

Swept like a river, and the clouded heavens 

Were shaken with the motion and the sound. 

And blackening in the sea-foam sway'd a boat, 

Half-swallow'd in it, anchored with a chain ; 

And in my madness to myself I said, 

" I will embark and I will lose myself. 

And in the great sea wash away my sin." 

I burst the chain, I sprang into the boat. 

Seven days I drove along the dreary deep. 

And with me drove the moon and all the stars ; 

And the wind fell, and on the seventh night 

I heard the shingle grinding in the surge, 

And felt the boat shock earth, and looking up, 

Behold, the enchanted towers of Carbonek, 

A castle like a rock upon a rock. 

With chasm-like portals open to the sea. 

And steps that met the breaker ! there was none 

Stood near it but a lion on each side 

That kept the entry, and the moon was full. 

Then from the boat I leapt, and up the stairs. 

There drew my sword. With sudden-flaring manes 

Those two great beasts rose upright like a man. 



260 THE HOLY GRAIL. 

Each gript a shoulder, and I stood between ; 

And, when I would have smitten them, heard a 

voice, 
" Doubt not, go forward ; if thou doubt, the beasts 
Will tear thee piecemeal." Then with violence 
The sword was dash'd from out my hand, and 

fell. 
And up into the sounding hall I past ; 
But nothing in the sounding hall I saw, 
No bench nor table, painting on the wall 
Or shield of knight ; only the rounded moon 
Thro' the tall oriel on the rolling sea. 
But always in the quiet house I heard, 
Clear as a lark, high o'er me as a lark, 
A sweet voice singing in the topmost tower 
To the eastward : up I climb'd a thousand steps 
With pain : as in a dream I seem'd to climb 
For ever : at the last I reach'd a door, 
A light was in the crannies, and I heard, 
" Glory and joy and honour to our Lord 
And to the Holy Vessel of the Grail." 
Then in my madness I essay'd the door; 
It gave ; and thro' a stormy glare, a heat 
As from a seventimes-heated furnace, I, 
Blasted and burnt, and blinded as I was, 
With such a fierceness that I swoon'd away — 
O, yet methought I saw the Holy Grail, 
All paird in crimson samite, and around 
Great angels, awful shapes, and wings and eyes. 
And but for all my madness and my sin, 
And then my swooning, I had sworn I saw 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 261 

That which I saw ; but what I saw was veiPd 
And covered ; and this Quest was not for me.' 

" So speaking, and here ceasing, Lancelot left 
The hall long silent, till Sir Gawain — nay, 
Brother, I need not tell thee foolish words, — 
A reckless and irreverent knight was he, 
Now bolden'd by the silence of his King, — 
Well, I will tell thee : ' O King, my liege,' he said, 
' Hath Gawain faiPd in any quest of thine? 
When have I stinted stroke in foughten field? 
But as for thine, my good friend Percivale, 
Thy holy nun and thou have driven men mad, 
Yea, made our mightiest madder than our least. 
But by mine eyes and by mine ears I swear, 
I will be deafer than the blue-eyed cat, 
And thrice as blind as any noonday owl, 
To holy virgins in their ecstasies, 
Henceforward.' 

" ' Deafer,' said the blameless King, 
' Gawain, and blinder unto holy things 
Hope not to make thyself by idle vows, 
Being too blind to have desire to see. 
But if indeed there came a sign from heaven, 
Blessed are Bors, Lancelot and Percivale, 
For these have seen according to their sight. 
For every fiery prophet in old times, 
And all the sacred madness of the bard. 
When God made music thro' them, could but 
speak 



262 THE HOLY GRAIL. 

His music by the framework and the chord ; 
And as ye saw it ye have spoken truth. 

" ' Nay — but thou errest, Lancelot : never yet 
Could all of true and noble in knight and man 
Twine round one sin, whatever it might be, 
With such a closeness, but apart th^re grew, 
Save that he were the swine thou spakest of, 
Some root of knighthood and pure nobleness ; 
Whereto see thou, that it may bear its flower. 

"'And spake I not too truly, O my knights? 
Was I too dark a prophet when I said 
To those who went upon the Holy Quest, 
That most of them would follow wandering fires, 
Lost in the quagmire? — lost to me and gone. 
And left me gazing at a barren board. 
And a lean Order — scarce returned a tithe — 
And out of those to whom the vision came 
My greatest hardly will believe he saw ; 
Another hath beheld it afar off, 
And leaving human wrongs to right themselves, 
Cares but to pass into the silent life. 
And one hath had the vision face to face. 
And now his chair desires him here in vain. 
However they may crown him otherwhere. 

" 'And some among you held, that if the King 
Had seen the sight he would have sworn the vow 
Not easily, seeing that the King must guard 
That which he rules, and is but as the hind 



THE HOLY GRAIL. 263 

To whom a space of land is given to plow. 

Who may not wander from the allotted field 

Before his work be done ; but, being done, 

Let visions of the night or of the day 

Come, as they will ; and many a time they come, 

Until this earth he walks on seems not earth, 

This light that strikes his eyeball is not light, 

This air that smites his forehead is not air 

But vision — yea, his very hand and foot — 

In moments when he feels he cannot die, 

And knows himself no vision to himself, 

Nor the high God a vision, nor that One 

Who rose again : ye have seen what ye have seen.' 

" So spake the King : I knew not all he meant." 



264 PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 



PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 

King Arthur made new knights to fill the gap 
Left by the Holy Quest ; and as he sat 
In hall at old Caerleon, the high doors 
Were softly sundered, and thro' these a youth, 
Pelleas, and the sweet smell of the fields 
Past, and the sunshine came along with him. 

" Make me thy knight, because I know, Sir King, 
All that belongs to knighthood, and I love." 
Such was his cry : for having heard the King 
Had let proclaim a tournament — the prize 
A golden circlet and a knightly sword, 
Full fain had Pelleas for his lady won 
The golden circlet, for himself the sword : 
And there were those who knew him near the King, 
And promised for him: and Arthur made him 
knight. 

And this new knight, Sir Pelleas of the isles — 
But lately come to his inheritance. 
And lord of many a barren isle was he — 
Riding at noon, a day or twain before, 
Across the forest call'd of Dean, to find 
Caerleon and the King, had felt the sun 



PEL LEAS AND ETTARRE. 265 

Beat like a strong knight on his helm, and reel'd 
Almost to falling from his horse ; but saw 
Near him a mound of even-sloping side, 
Whereon a hundred stately beeches grew, 
And here and there great hollies under them ; 
But for a mile all round was open space, 
And fern and heath : and slowly Pelleas drew 
To that dim day, then binding his good horse 
To a tree, cast himself down ; and as he lay 
At random looking over the brown earth 
Thro^ that green-glooming twilight of the grove, 
It seem'd to Pelleas that the fern without 
Burnt as a living fire of emeralds, 
So that his eyes were dazzled looking at it. 
Then o'er it crost the dimness of a cloud 
Floating, and once the shadow of a bird 
Flying, and then a fawn ; and his eyes closed. 
And since he loved all maidens, but no maid 
In special, half-awake he whispered, "Where? 
O where? I love thee, tho' I know thee not. 
For fair thou art and pure as Guinevere, 
And I will make thee with my spear and sword 
As famous — O my Queen, my Guinevere, 
For I will be thine Arthur when we meet." 

Suddenly wakenM with a sound of talk 
And laughter at the limit of the wood, 
And glancing thro' the hoary boles, he saw, 
Strange as to some old prophet might have seem'd 
A vision hovering on a sea of fire, 
Damsels in divers colours like the cloud 



266 PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 

Of sunset and sunrise, and all of them 

On horses, and the horses richly trapt 

Breast-high in that bright line of bracken stood : 

And all the damsels talk'd confusedly, 

And one was pointing this way, and one that, 

Because the way was lost. 

And Pelleas rose, 
And loosed his horse, and led him to the li^ht. 
There she that seemM the chief among them said, 
'•In happy time behold our pilot-star ! 
Youth, we are damsels-errant, and we ride, 
Arm'd as ye see, to tilt against the knights 
There at Caerleon, but have lost our way : 
To right? to left? straight forward? back again? 
Which? tell us quickly." 

And Pelleas gazing thought, 
" Is Guinevere herself so beautiful?" 
For large her violet eyes looked, and her bloom 
A rosy dawn kindled in stainless heavens, 
And round her limbs, mature in womanhood ; 
And slender was her hand and small her shape ; 
And but for those large eyes, the haunts of scorn, 
She might have seem'd a toy to trifle with, 
And pass and care no more. But while he gazed 
The beauty of her flesh abash 'd the boy, 
As tho' it were the beauty of her soul : 
For as the base man, judging of the good. 
Puts his own baseness in him by default 
Of will and nature, so did Pelleas lend 



PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 267 

All the young beauty of his own soul to hers, 
Believing her ; and when she spake to him, 
Stammered, and could not make her a reply. 
For out of the waste islands had he come, 
Where saving his own sisters he had known 
Scarce any but the women of his isles, 
Rough wives, that laugh'd and screamed against the 

gulls, 
Makers of nets, and living from the sea. 

Then with a slow smile turned the lady round 
And look'd upon her people ; and as when 
A stone is flung into some sleeping tarn. 
The circle widens till it lip the marge, 
Spread the slow smile thro' all her company. 
Three knights were thereamong ; and they too 

smiled. 
Scorning him ; for the lady was Ettarre, 
And she was a great lady in her land. 

Again she said, " O wild and of the woods, 
Knowest thou not the fashion of our speech ? 
Or have the Heavens but given thee a fair face, 
Lacking a tongue ? " 

" O damsel," answer'd he, 
" I woke from dreams ; and coming out of gloom 
Was dazzled by the sudden light, and crave 
Pardon : but will ye to Caerleon ? I 
Go likewise : shall I lead you to the King? " 



268 PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 

" Lead then," she said ; and thro' the woods they 
went. 
And while they rode, the meaning in liis eyes, 
His tenderness of manner, and chaste awe, 
His broken utterances and bashfulness, 
Were all a burthen to her, and in her heart 
She mutterM, " I have lighted on a fool, 
Raw, yet so stale ! " But since her mind was bent 
On hearing, after trumpet blown, her name 
And title, " Queen of Beauty," in the lists 
Cried — and beholding him so strong, she thought 
That peradventure he will fight for me, 
And win the circlet : therefore flatter'd him. 
Being so gracious, that he wellnigh deem'd 
His wish by hers was echo'd ; and her knights 
And all her damsels too were gracious to him, 
For she was a great lady. 

And when they reached 
Caerleon, ere they past to lodging, she, 
Taking his hand, " O the strong hand," she said, 
" See ! look at mine ! but wilt thou fight for me, 
And win me this fine circlet, Pelleas, 
That I may love thee ? ' 

Then his helpless heart 
Leapt, and he cried, "Ay! wilt thou if I win?" 
"Ay, that will I," she answered, and she laugh'd. 
And straitly nipt the hand, and flung it from her ; 
Then glanced askew at those three knights of hers, 
Till all her ladies laugh'd along with her. 



PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 269 

" O happy world," thought Pelleas, " all, meseems, 
Are happy ; I the happiest of them all." 
Nor slept that night for pleasure in his blood, 
And green wood-ways, and eyes among the leaves ; 
Then being on the morrow knighted, sware 
To love one only. And as he came away, 
The men who met him rounded on their heels 
And wonderM after him, because his face 
Shone like the countenance of a priest of old 
Against the flame about a sacrifice 
Kindled by fire from heaven : so glad was he. 

Then Arthur made vast banquets, and strange 

knights 
From the four winds came in : and each one sat, 
Tho' served with choice from air, land, stream, and 

sea. 
Oft in mid-banquet measuring with his eyes 
His neighbour's make and might : and Pelleas look'd 
Noble among the noble, for he dream'd 
His lady loved him, and he knew himself 
Loved of the King : and him his new-made knight 
Worshipt, whose lightest whisper moved him more 
Than all the ranged reasons of the world. 

Then blush'd and brake the morning of the jousts, 
And this was caird " The Tournament of Youth : " 
For Arthur, loving his young knight, withheld 
His older and his mightier from the lists, 
That Pelleas might obtain his lady's love, 
According to her promise, and remain 



270 PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 

Lord of the tourney. And Arthur had the jousts 
Down in the flat field by the shore of Usk 
Holden : the gilded parapets were crowned 
With faces, and the great tower filPd with eyes 
Up to the summit, and the trumpets blew. 
There all day long Sir Pelleas kept the field 
With honour : so by that strong hand of his 
The sword and golden circlet were achieved. 

Then rang the shout his lady loved : the heat 
Of pride and glory fired her face ; her eye 
Sparkled ; she caught the circlet from his lance, 
And there before the people crown'd herself: 
So for the last time she was gracious to him. 

Then at Caerleon for a space — her look 
Bright for all others, cloudier on her knight — 
LingerM Ettarre : and seeing Pelleas droop, 
Said Guinevere, " We marvel at thee much, 
O damsel, wearing this unsunny face 
To him who won thee glory ! " And she said, 
" Had ye not held your Lancelot in your bower. 
My Queen, he had not won." Whereat the Queen, 
As one whose foot is bitten by an ant. 
Glanced down upon her, turn'd and went her way. 

But after, when her damsels, and herself, 
And those three knights all set their faces home. 
Sir Pelleas followM. She that saw him cried, 
" Damsels ~ and yet I should be shamed to say 
it — 



PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 271 

I cannot bide Sir Baby. Keep Iiim back 
Among yourselves. Would rather that we had 
Some rough old knight who knew the worldly 

way, 
Albeit grizzlier than a bear, to ride 
And jest with : take him to you, keep him off, 
And pamper him with papmeat, if ye will. 
Old milky fables of the wolf and sheep, 
Such as the wholesome mothers tell their boys. 
Nay, should ye try him with a merry one 
To find his mettle, good : and if he fly us. 
Small matter ! let him." This her damsels heard, 
And mindful of her small and cruel hand. 
They, closing round him thro' the journey home. 
Acted her hest, and always from her side 
Restrained him with all manner of device. 
So that he could not come to speech with her. 
And when she gain'd her castle, upsprang the 

bridge, 
Down rang the grate of iron thro' the groove, 
And he was left alone in open field. 

" These be the ways of ladies," Pelleas thought, 
"To those who love them, trials of our faith. 
Yea, let her prove me to the uttermost, 
For loyal to the uttermost am I." 
So made his moan ; and, darkness falling, sought 
A priory not far off, there lodged, but rose 
With morning every day, and, moist or dry, 
Full-armM upon his charger all day long 
Sat by the walls, and no one open'd to him. 



272 PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 

And this persistence turn'd her scorn to wrath. 
Then calling her three knights, she charged them, 

" Out ! 
And drive him from the walls." And out they came, 
But Pelleas overthrew them as they dash'd 
Against him one by one ; and these returned, 
But still he kept his watch beneath the wall. 

Thereon her wrath became a hate ; and once, 
A week beyond, while walking on the walls 
With her three knights, she pointed downward, 

" Look, 
He haunts me — I cannot breathe — besieges me ; 
Down ! strike him ! put my hate into your strokes, 
And drive him from my walls." And down they 

went. 
And Pelleas overthrew them one by one ; 
And from the tower above him cried Ettarre, 
" Bind him, and bring him in." 

He heard her voice ; 
Then let the strong hand, which had overthrown 
Her minion-knights, by those he overthrew 
Be bounden straight, and so they brought him in. 

Then when he came before Ettarre, the sight 
Of her rich beauty made him at one glance 
More bondsman in his heart than in his bonds. 
Yet with good cheer he spake, " Behold me, Lady, 
A prisoner, and the vassal of thy will ; 
And if thou keep me in thy donjon here, 



PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 273 

Content am I so that I see thy face 

But once a day : for I have sworn my vows, 

And thou hast given thy promise, and I know 

That all these pains are trials of my faith, 

And that thyself, when thou hast seen me strain'd 

And sifted to the utmost, wilt at length 

Yield me thy love and know me for thy knight." 

Then she began to rail so bitterly. 
With all her damsels, he was stricken mute ; 
But when she mock'd his vows and the great King, 
Lighted on words : " For pity of thine own self. 
Peace, Lady, peace: is he not thine and mine?" 
" Thou fool," she said, " I never heard his voice 
But longM to break away. Unbind him now, 
And thrust him out of doors ; for save he be 
Fool to the midmost marrow of his bones, 
He will return no more." And those, her three, 
Laugh'd, and unbound, and thrust him from the 
gate. 

And after this, a week beyond, again 
She caird them, saying, " There he watches yet, 
There like a dog before his master's door ! 
KickM, he returns : do ye not hate him, ye? 
Ye know yourselves : how can ye bide at peace, 
Affronted with his fulsome innocence? 
Are ye but creatures of the board and bed. 
No men to strike? Fall on him all at once, 
And if ye slay him I reck not : if ye fail, 
Give ye the slave mine order to be bound. 



274 PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 

Bind him as heretofore, and bring him in : 
It may be ye shall slay him in his bonds." 

She spake ; and at her will they couch'd their 
spears, 
Three against one : and Gawain passing by^ 
Bound upon solitary adventure, saw 
Low down beneath the shadow of those towers 
A villainy, three to one : and thro' his heart 
The fire of honour and all noble deeds 
Flashed, and he calPd, " I strike upon thy side — 
The caitiffs ! " " Nay," said Pelleas, " but forbear ; 
He needs no aid who doth his lady's will." 

So Gawain, looking at the villainy done, 
Forbore, but in his heat and eagerness 
Trembled and quiver'd, as the dog, withheld 
A moment from the vermin that he sees 
Before him, shivers, ere he springs and kills. 

And Pelleas overthrew them, one to three ; 
And they rose up, and bound, and brought him in. 
Then first her anger, leaving Pelleas, burn'd 
Full on her knights in many an evil name 
Of craven, weakling, and thrice-beaten hound : 
" Yet, take him, ye that scarce are fit to touch, 
Far less to bind, your victor, and thrust him out, 
And let who will release him from his bonds. 
And if he comes again " — there she brake short ; 
And Pelleas answer'd, " Lady, for indeed 
I loved you and I deem'd you beautiful, 



PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 21S 

I cannot brook to see your beauty marr'd 
Thro' evil spite : and if ye love me not, 
I cannot bear to dream you so forsworn : 
I had liefer ye were worthy of my love, 
Than to be loved again of you — farewell ; 
And tho' ye kill my hope, not 3-et my love, 
Vex not yourself: ye will not see me more." 

While thus he spake, she gazed upon the man 
Of princely bearing, tho' in bonds, and thought, 
"Why have I push'd him from me? this man loves. 
If love there be : yet him I loved not. Why? 
I deemed him fool? yea, so? or that in him 
A something — was it nobler than myself ? — 
Seem'd my reproach ? He is not of my kind. 
He could not love me, did he know me well. 
Nay, let him go — and quickly." And her knights 
Laugh'd not, but thrust him bounden out of door. 

Forth sprang Gawain, and loosed him from his 
bonds, 
And flung them o'er the walls ; and afterward. 
Shaking his hands, as from a lazar's rag, 
"Faith of my body," he said, "and art thou not — 
Yea thou art he, whom late our Arthur made 
Knight of his table ; yea and he that won 
The circlet? wherefore hast thou so defamed 
Thy brotherhood in me and all the rest, 
As let these caitiffs on thee work their will?" 

And Pelleas answerM, " O, their wills are hers 
For whom I won the circlet ; and mine, hers, 



276 PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 

Thus to be bounden, so to see her face, 
IVIarr'd tho' it be with spite and mockery now, 
Other than when I found her in the woods; 
And tho' she hath me bounden but in spite. 
And all to flout me, when they bring me in, 
Let me be bounden, I shall see her face ; 
Else must I die thro' mine unhappiness." 

And Gawain answerM kindly tho' in scorn, 
" Why, let my lady bind me if she will, 
And let my lady beat me if she will : 
But an she send her delegate to thrall 
These fighting hands of mine — Christ kill me then 
But I will slice him handless by the wrist, 
And let my lady sear the stump for him, 
Howl as he may. But hold me for your friend : 
Come, ye know nothing : here I pledge my troth. 
Yea, by the honour of the Table Round, 
I will be leal to thee and work thy work, 
And tame thy jailing princess to thine hand. 
Lend me thine horse and arms, and I will say 
That I have slain thee. She will let me in 
To hear the manner of thy fight and fall ; 
Then, when I come within her counsels, then 
From prime to vespers will I chant thy praise 
As prowest knight and truest lover, more 
Than any have sung thee living, till she long 
To have thee back in lusty life again. 
Not to be bound, save by white bonds and warm, 
Dearer than freedom. Wherefore now thy horse 
And armour : let me go : be comforted : 



PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. Ill 

Give me three days to melt her fancy, and hope 
The third night hence will bring thee news of gold.'" 



Then Pelleas lent his horse and all his arms, 
Saving the goodly sword, his prize, and took 
Gawain's, and said, " Betray me not, but help — 
Art thou not he whom men call light-of-love ? " 

"Ay," said Gawain, "for women be so light." 
Then bounded forward to the castle walls. 
And raised a bugle hanging from his neck, 
And winded it, and that so musically 
That all the old echoes hidden in the wall 
Rang out Uke hollow woods at hunting-tide. 

Up ran a score of damsels to the tower ; 
" Avaunt," they cried, " our lady loves thee not." 
But Gawain lifting up his vizor said, 
" Gawain am I, Gawain of Arthur's court. 
And I have slain this Pelleas whom ye hate : 
Behold his horse and armour. Open gates, 
And I will make you merry." 

And down they ran. 
Her damsels, crying to their lady, " Lo ! 
Pelleas is dead — he told us — he that hath 
His horse and armour: will ye let him in? 
He slew him ! Gawain, Gawain of the court, 
Sir Gawain — there he waits below the wall, 
Blowing his bugle as who should say him nay." 



278 PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 

And so, leave given, straight on thro' open door 
Rode Gawain, whom she greeted courteously. 
" Dead, is it so? " she ask'd. " Ay, ay," said he, 
" And oft in dying cried upon your name." 
" Pity on him," she answered, " a good knight. 
But never let me bide one hour at peace." 
" Ay," thought Gawain, "and you be fair enow: 
But I to your dead man have given my troth. 
That whom ye loathe, him will I make you love." 

So those three days, aimless about the land, 
Lost in a doubt, Pelleas wandering 
Waited, until the third night brought a moon 
With promise of large light on woods and ways. 

Hot was the night and silent ; but a sound 
Of Gawain ever coming, and this lay — 
Which Pelleas had heard sung before the Queen, 
And seen her sadden listening — vext his heart, 
And marr'd his rest — "A worm within the rose." 

"A rose, but one, none other rose had I, 
A rose, one rose, and this was wondrous fair, 
One rose, a«rose that gladdened earth and sky, 
One rose, my rose, that sweetenM all mine air — 
I cared not for the thorns ; the thorns were there. 

" One rose, a rose to gather by and by, 
One rose, a rose, to gather and to wear. 
No rose but one — what other rose had I ? 
One rose, my rose ; a rose that will not die, — 
He dies who loves it, — if the worm be there." 



PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 279 

This tender rhyme, and evermore the doubt, 
"Why Hngers Gawain with his golden news?'' 
So shook him that he could not rest, but rode 
Ere midnight to her walls, and bound his horse 
Hard by the gates. Wide open were the gates, 
And no watch kept ; and in thro' these he past. 
And heard but his own steps, and his own heart 
Beating, for nothing moved but his own self. 
And his own shadow. Then he crost the court, 
And spied not any light in hall or bower, 
But saw the postern portal also wide 
Yawning; and up a slope of garden, all 
Of roses white and red, and brambles mixt 
And overgrowing them, went on, and found, 
Here too, all hush'd below the mellow moon, 
Save that one rivulet from a tiny cave 
Came lightening downward, and so spilt itself 
Among the roses, and was lost again. 

Then was he ware of three pavilions rear'd 
Above the bushes, gilden-peakt : in one. 
Red after revel, droned her lurdane knights 
Slumbering, and their three squires across their 

feet: 
In one, their malice on the placid lip 
Froz'n by sweet sleep, four of her damsels lay : 
And in the third, the circlet of the jousts 
Bound on her brow, were Gawain and Ettarre. 

Back, as a hand that pushes thro' the leaf 
To find a nest and feels a snake, he drew : 



280 PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 

Back, as a coward slinks from what he fears 
To cope with, or a traitor proven, or hound 
Beaten, did Pelleas in an utter shame 
Creep with his shadow thro' the court again. 
Fingering at his sword-handle until he stood 
There on the castle-bridge once more, and thought, 
" I will go back, and slay them where they lie/' 

And so went back, and seeing them yet in sleep 
Said, " Ye, that so dishallow the holy sleep, 
Your sleep is death," and drew the sword, an« 

thought, 
" What ! slay a sleeping knight ? the King hat 

bound 
And sworn me to this brotherhood ; " again, 
" Alas that ever a knight should be so false." 
Then turned, and so returned, and groaning laid 
The naked sword athwart their naked throats, 
There left it, and them sleeping ; and she lay, 
The circlet of the tourney round her brows. 
And the sword of the tourney across her throat. 

And forth he past, and mounting on his horse 
Stared at her towers that, larger than themselves. 
In their own darkless, thronged into the moon- 
Then crushed the saddle with his thighs, 

clench'd 
His hands, and maddened with himself and moan 

" Would they have risen against me in their blocd 
At the last day? I might have answer'd them 



PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 2S1 

Even before high God. O towers so strong, 
Huge, solid, would that even while I gaze 
The crack of earthquake shivering to your base 
Split you, and Hell burst up your harlot roofs 
Bellowing, and charr'd you thro^ and thro* Avithin, 
Black as the harlof s heart — hollow as a skull ! 
Let the fierce east screair. iiiro' your eyelet-holes. 
And whirl the dust of hariots round and round 
In dung and nettles ! hiss, snakt^ — I saw him 

there — 
Let the fox bark, let the wolf yell. Who yells 
Here in the still sweet summer night, bu*: I — 
I, the poor Pelleas whom she calPd her foo^? 
Fool, beast — he, she, or I? myself most fool" 
Beast too, as lacking human wit — disgraced, 
Dishonoured all for trial of true love — 
Love? — we be all alike : only the King 
Hath made us fools and liars. O noble vows ! 

great and sane and simple race of brutes 
That own no lust because they have no law ! 
For why should I have loved her to my shame? 

1 loathe her, as I loved her to my shame. 
I never loved her, I but lusted for her — 
Away — " 

He dash'd the rowel into his horse, 
And bounded forth and vanished thro' the night. 

Then she, that felt the cold touch on her throat. 
Awaking knew the sword, and turn'd herself 
To Gawain : " Liar, for thou hast not slain 



282 PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 

This Pelleas ! here he stood, and might have slain 
Me and thyself." And he that tells the tale 
Says that her ever-veering fancy turned 
To Pelleas, as the one true knight on earth, 
And only lover ; and thro' her love her life 
Wasted and pined, desiring him in vain. 

But he by wild and way, for half the night, 
And over hard and soft, striking the sod 
From out the soft, the spark from off the hard. 
Rode till the star above the wakening sun, 
Beside that tower where Percivale was cowl'd, 
Glanced from the rosy forehead of the dawn. 
For so the words were flash'd into his heart 
He knew not whence or wherefore : " O sweet 

star, 
Pure on the virgin forehead of the dawn ! " 
Aind there he would have wept, but felt his eyes 
Harder and drier than a fountain bed 
In summer: thither came the village girls 
And linger'd talking, and they come no more 
Till the sweet heavens have fiird it from the heights 
Again with living waters in the change 
Of seasons : hard his eyes ; harder his heart 
Seem'd ; but so weary were his limbs, that he, 
Gasping, " Of Arthur's hall am I, but here. 
Here let me rest and die," cast himself down. 
And gulfd his griefs in inmost sleep ; so lay, 
Till shaken by a dream, that Gawain fired 
The hall of Merlin, and the morning star 
Reel'd in the smoke, brake into flame, and fell. 



PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 283 

He woke, and being ware of some one nigh, 
Sent hands upon him, as to. tear him, crying, 
" False ! and I held thee pure as Guinevere." 

But Percivale stood near him and replied, 
" Am I but false as Guinevere is pure ? 
Or art thou mazed with dreams? or being one 
Of pur free-spoken Table hast not heard 
That Lancelot" — there he check'd himself and 
paused. 

Then fared it with Sir Pelleas as with one 
Who gets a wound in battle, and the sword 
That made it plunges thro' the wound again, 
And pricks it deeper : and he shrank and waiPd, 
" Is the Queen false?" and Percivale was mute, 
" Have any of our Round Table held their vows ? " 
And Percivale made answer not a word. 
" Is the King true ? " " The King ! " said Percivale. 
" Why then let men couple at once with wolves. 
What ! art thou mad ? " 

But Pelleas, leaping up, 
Ran thro' the doors and vaulted on his horse 
And fled : small pity upon his hors6 had he. 
Or on himself, or any, and when he met 
A cripple, one that held a hand for alms — 
Hunch'd as he was, and like an old dwarf-elm 
That turns its back on the salt blast, the boy 
Paused not, but overrode him, shouting, " False, 
And false with Gawain ! " and so left him bruised 



284 PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 

And batter'd, and fled on, and hill and wood 
Went ever streaming by him till the gloom, 
That follows on the turning of the world, 
DarkenM the common path : he twitch'd the reins. 
And made his beast that better knew it, swerve 
Now off it and now on ; but when he saw 
High up in heaven the hall that Merlin built. 
Blackening against the dead-green stripes of eveyi. 
"Black nest of rats," he groan'd, "ye build too 
high." 

Not long thereafter from the city gates 
Issued Sir Lancelot riding airily. 
Warm with a gracious parting from the Queen, 
Peace at his heart, and gazing at a star 
And marvelling what it was : on whom the boy, 
Across the silent seeded mellow-grass 
Borne, clashed: and Lancelot, saying, "What 

name hast thou 
That ridest here so blindly and so hard ? " 
" I have no name," he shouted, "a scourge am I, 
To lash the treasons of the Table Round." 
"Yea, but thy name?" "I have many names," he 

cried : 
" I am wrath and shame and hate and evil fame, 
And like a poisonous wind I pass to blast 
And blaze the crifne of Lancelot and the Queen." 
" First over me," said Lancelot, " shalt thou pass." 
" Fight therefore," yelPd the other, and either 

knight 
Drew back a space, and when they closed, at once 



PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 285 

The weary steed of Pelleas floundering flung 
His rider, who caird out from the dark field, 
" Thou art false as Hell : slay me : I have no 

sword." 
Then Lancelot, " Yea, between thy lips — and 

sharp ; 
But here will I disedge it by thy death." 
" Slay then," he shriekM, " my will is to be slain," 
And Lancelot, with his heel upon the fall'n, 
Rolling his eyes, a moment stood, then spake : 
" Rise, weakling ; I am Lancelot ; say thy say." 
• 

And Lancelot slowly rode his warhorse back 
To Camelot, and Sir Pelleas in brief while 
Caught his unbroken limbs from the dark field. 
And follow'd to the city. It chanced that both 
Brake into hall together, worn and pale. 
There with her knights and dames was Guinevere. 
Full wonderingly she gazed on Lancelot 
So soon returned, and then on Pelleas, him 
Who had not greeted her, but cast himself 
Down on a bench, hard-breathing. " Have ye 

fought?" 
She ask'd of Lancelot. " Ay, my Queen," he said. 
"And thou hast overthrown him?" "Ay, my 

Queen." 
Then she, turning to Pelleas, " O young knight, 
Hath the great heart of knighthood in thee faiPd 
So far thou canst not bide, unfrowardly, 
A fall from him ? " Then, for he answer'd not, 
" Or hast thou other griefs? If I, the Queen, 



286 PELLEAS AND ETTARRE. 

May help them, loose thy tongue, and let me 

know." 
But Pelleas lifted up an eye so fierce 
She quaiPd ; and he, hissing " I have no sword," 
Sprang from the door into the dark. The Queen 
Look'd hard upon her lover, he on her ; 
And each foresaw the dolorous day to be : 
And all talk died, as in a grove all song 
Beneath the shadow of some bird of prey ; 
Then a long silence came upon the hall. 
And Modred thought, " The time is hard at hand." 



THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 28^ 



THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 

Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his mood 

Had made mock-knight of Arthur's Table Round, 

At Camelot, high above the yellowing woods, 

Danced like a withered leaf before the hall. 

And toward him from the hall, with harp in hand, 

And from the crown thereof a carcanet 

Of ruby swaying to and fro, the prize 

Of Tristram in the jousts of yesterday, 

Came Tristram, saying, "Why skip ye so. Sir Fool ? ' 

For Arthur and Sir Lancelot riding once 
Far down beneath a winding wall of rock 
Heard a child wail. A stump of oak half-dead, 
From roots like some black coil of carven snakes, 
Clutch'd at the crag, and started thro' mid air 
Bearing an eagle's nest : and thro' the tree 
Rush'd ever a rainy wind, and thro' the wind 
Pierced ever a child's cry : and crag and tree 
Scaling, Sir Lancelot from the perilous nest. 
This ruby necklace thrice around her neck. 
And all unscarr'd from beak or talon, brought 
A maiden babe ; which Arthur pitying took. 
Then gave it to his Queen to rear : the Queen 
But coldly acquiescing, in her white arms 



288 THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 

Received, and after loved it tenderly, 
And named it Nestling ; so forgot herself 
A moment, and her cares ; till that young life 
Being smitten in mid heaven with mortal cold 
Past from her ; and in time the carcanet 
Vext her with plaintive memories of the child : 
So she, delivering it to Arthur, said, 
" Take thou the jewels of this dead innocence, 
And make them, an thou wilt, a tourney-prize." 

To whom the King, " Peace to thine eagle-borne 
Dead nestling, and this honour after death. 
Following thy will ! but, O my Queen, I muse 
Why ye not wear on arm, or neck, or zone 
Those diamonds that I rescued from the tarn. 
And Lancelot won, methought, for thee to wear." 

"Would rather you had let them fall," she cried, 
"Plunge and be lost — ill-fated as they were, 
A bitterness to me ! — ye look amazed. 
Not knowing they were lost as soon as given — 
Slid from my hands, when I was leaning out 
Above the river — that unhappy child 
Past in her barge : but rosier luck will go 
With these rich jewels, seeing that they came 
Not from the skeleton of a brother-slayer, 
But the sweet body of a maiden babe. 
Perchance — who knows ? — the purest of thy knights 
May win them for the purest of my maids." 

She ended, and the cry of a great joust 
With trumpet-blowings ran on all the ways 



THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 289 

From Camelot in among the faded fields 

To furthest towers ; and everywhere the knights 

Arm'd for a day of glory before the King. 

But on the hither side of that loud morn 
Into the hall stagger'd, his visage ribb'd 
From ear to ear with dogwhip-weals, his nose 
Bridge-broken, one eye out, and one hand off, 
And one with shattered fingers dangling lame, 
A churl, to whom indignantly the King, 

" My churl, for whom Christ died, what evil beast 
Hath drawn his claws athwart thy face? or fiend? 
Man was it who marr'd heaven's image in thee thus?" 

Then, sputtering thro' the hedge of splinter'd 
teeth. 
Yet strangers to the tongue, and with blunt stump 
Pitch-blacken'd sawing the air, said the maim'd churl, 

" He took them and he drave them to his tower — 
Some hold he was a table-knight of thine — 
A hundred goodly ones — the Red Knight, he — 
Lord, I was tending swine, and the Red Knight 
Brake in upon me and drave them to his tower; 
And when I calPd upon thy name as one 
That doest right by gentle and by thurl, 
Maim'd me and mauPd, and would outright have 

slain, 
Save that he sware me to a message, saying, 
' Tell thou the King and all his liars, that I 
Have founded my Round Table in the North, 



290 THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 

And whatsoever his own knights have sworn 

My knights have sworn the counter to it — and say 

My tower is full of harlots, like his court, 

But mine are worthier, seeing they profess 

To be none other than themselves — and say 

My knights are all adulterers like his own, 

But mine are truer, seeing they profess 

To be none other ; and say his hour is come, 

The heathen are upon him, his long lance 

Broken, and his Excalibur a straw.' '^ 

Then Arthur turned to Kay the seneschal, 
" Take thou my churl, and tend him curiously 
Like a king's heir, till all his hurts be whole. 
The heathen — but that ever-climbing wave, 
Hurl'd back again so often in empty foam, 
Hath lain for years at rest — and renegades, 
Thieves, bandits, leavings of confusion, whom 
The wholesome realm is purged of otherwhere. 
Friends, thro' your manhood and your fealty,— 

now 
Make their last head like Satan in the North. 
My younger knights, new-made, in whom your flower 
Waits to be solid fruit of golden deeds. 
Move with me toward their quelling, which achieved, 
The loneliest w^ys are safe from shore to shore. 
But thou. Sir Lancelot, sitting in my place 
Enchair'd to-morrow, arbitrate the field ; 
For wherefore shouldst thou care to mingle with it, 
Only to yield my Queen her own again? 
Speak, Lancelot, thou art silent: is it well.^" 



THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 291 

Thereto Sir Lancelot answered, " It is well : 
Yet better if the King abide, and leave 
The leading of his younger knights to me. 
Else, for the King has wilPd it, it is well." 

Then Arthur rose and Lancelot follow'd him, 
And while they stood without the doors, the King 
Turned to him saying, " Is it then so well? 
Or mine the blame that oft I seem as he 
Of whom was written, 'A sound is in his ears'? 
The foot that loiters, bidden go, — the glance 
That only seems half-loyal to command, — 
A manner somewhat fall'n from reverence — 
Or have I dream'd the bearing of our knights 
Tells of a manhood ever less and lower? 
Or whence the fear lest this my realm, uprear'd, 
By noble deeds at one with noble vows. 
From flat confusion and brute violences, 
Reel back into the beast, and be no more?" 

He spoke, and taking all his younger knights, 
Down the slope city rode, and sharply turnM 
North by the gate. In her high bower the Queen, 
Working a tapestry, lifted up her head. 
Watched her lord pass, and knew not that she sigh'd. 
Then ran across her memory the strange rhyme 
Of bygone Merlin, "Where is he who knows? 
From the great deep to the great deep he goes." 

But when the morning of a tournament, 
By these in earnest those in mockery calPd 



292 THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 

The Tournament of the Dead Innocence, 
Brake with a wet wind blowing, Lancelot, 
Round whose sick head all night, like birds of prey. 
The words of Arthur flying shriekM, arose, 
And down a streetway hung with folds of pure 
White samite, and by fountains running wine, 
Where children sat in white with cups of gold. 
Moved to the lists, and there, with slow sad steps 
Ascending, filPd his double-dragon'd chair. 

He glanced and saw the stately galleries, 
Dame, damsel, each thro' worship of their Queen 
White-robed in honour of the stainless child, 
And some with scattered jewels, like a bank 
Of maiden snow mingled with sparks of fire. 
He look'd but once, and vaiPd his eyes again. 

The sudden trumpet sounded as in a dream 
To ears but half-awaked, then one low roll 
Of Autumn thunder, and the jousts began : 
And ever the wind blew, and yellowing leaf 
And gloom and gleam, and shower and shorn plume 
Went down it. Sighing weariedly, as one 
Who sits and gazes on a faded fire, 
When all the goodlier guests are past away, 
Sat their great umpire, looking o'er the lists. 
He saw the laws that ruled the tournament 
Broken, but spake not ; once, a knight cast down 
Before his throne of arbitration cursed 
The dead babe and the follies of the King; 
And once the laces of a helmet crack'd, 



THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 293 

And shovv'd him, like a vermin in its hole, 

Modred, a narrow face : anon he heard 

The voice that billow'd round the barriers roar 

An ocean-sounding welcome to one knight, 

But newly-enter'd, taller than the rest, 

And armour'd all in forest green, whereon 

There tript a hundred tiny silver deer, 

And wearing but a holly-spray for crest, 

With ever-scattering berries, and on shield 

A spear, a harp, a bugle — Tristram — late 

From overseas in Brittany returned, 

And marriage with a princess of that realm, 

Isolt the White — Sir Tristram of the Woods — 

Whom Lancelot knew, had held sometime with pain 

His own against him, and now yearn'd to shake 

The burthen off his heart in one full shock 

With Tristram ev'n to death : his strong hands 

gript 
And dinted the gilt dragons right and left. 
Until he groan'd for wrath — so many of those, 
That ware their ladies' colours on the casque, 
Drew from before Sir Tristram to the bounds, 
And there with gibes and flickering mockeries 
Stood, while he mutter'd, "Craven crests! O shame ! 
What faith have these in whom they sware to love? 
The glory of our Round Table is no more.'" 

So Tristram won, and Lancelot gave, the gems, 
Not speaking other word than "Hast thou won? 
Art thou the purest, brother? See, the hand 
Wherewith thou takest this, is red ! " to whom 



294 THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 

Tristram, half plagued by Lancelot's languorous 

mood, 
Made answer, " Ay, but wherefore toss me this 
Like a dry bone cast to some hungry hound? 
Let be thy fair Queen's fantasy. Strength of heart 
And might of limb, but mainly use and skill, 
Are winners in this pastime of our King. 
My hand — belike the lance hath dript upon it — 
No blood of mine, I trow ; but O chief knight. 
Right arm of Arthur in the battlefield, 
Great brother, thou nor I have made the world ; 
Be happy in thy fair Queen as I in mine." 

And Tristram round the gallery made his horse 
Caracole ; then bow'd his homage, bluntly saying, 
" Fair damsels, each to him who worships each 
Sole Queen of Beauty and of love, behold 
This day my Queen of Beauty is not here." 
And most of these were mute, some anger'd, one 
Murmuring, " All courtesy is dead," and one, 
" The glory of our Round Table is no more." 

Then fell thick rain, plume droopt and mantle 
clung. 
And pettish cries awoke, and the wan day 
Went glooming down in wet and weariness : 
But under her black brows a swarthy one 
Laugh'd shrilly, crying, " Praise the patient saints, 
Our one white day of Innocence hath past, 
Tho' somewhat draggled at the skirt. So be it. 
The snowdrop only, flowering thro' the year, 



THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 295 

Would make the world as blank as Winter-tide. 
Come — let us gladden their sad eyes, our Queen's 
And Lancelot's, at this night's solemnity 
With all the kindlier colours of the field." 

So dame and damsel glitter'd at the feast 
Variously gay : for he that tells the tale 
Liken'd them, saying, as when an hour of cold 
Falls on the mountain in midsummer snows, 
And all the purple slopes of mountain flowers 
Pass under white, till the warm hour returns 
With veer of wind, and all are flowers again ; 
So dame and damsel cast the simple white, 
And glowing in all colours, the live grass, 
Rose-campion, bluebell, kingcup, poppy, glanced 
About the revels, and with mirth so loud 
Beyond all use, that, half-amazed, the Queen, 
And wroth at Tristram and the lawless jousts, 
Brake up their sports, then slowly to her bower 
Parted, and in her bosom pain was lord. 

And little Dagonet on the morrow morn, 
High over all the yellowing Autumn-tide, 
Danced like a withered leaf before the hall. 
Then Tristram saying, "Why skip ye so. Sir Fool?" 
WheePd round on either heel, Dagonet replied, 
" Belike for lack of wiser company ; 
Or being fool, and seeing too much wit 
Makes the world rotten, why, belike I skip 
To know myself the wisest knight of all." 
" Ay, fool," said Tristram, " but 'tis eating dry 



296 THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 

To dance without a catch, a roundelay 

To dance to.'" Then he twangled on his harp, 

And while he twangled little Dagonet stood 

Quiet as any water-sodden log 

Stay'd in the wandering warble of a brook ; 

But when the twangling ended, skipt again ; 

And being ask'd, "Why skipt ye not, Sir Fool?" 

Made answer, " I had liefer twenty years 

Skip to the broken music of my brains 

Than any broken music thou canst make." 

Then Tristram, waiting for the quip to come, 

" Good now, what music have I broken, fool?" 

And little Dagonet, skipping, "Arthur, the King's; 

For when thou playest that air with Queen Isolt, 

Thou makest broken music with thy bride. 

Her daintier namesake down in Brittany — 

And so thou breakest Arthur's music too." 

" Save for that broken music in thy brains, 

Sir Fool," said Tristram, " I would break thy head. 

Fool, I came late, the heathen wars were o'er, 

The life had flown, we sware but by the shell — 

I am but a fool to reason with a fool — 

Come, thou art crabb'd and sour : but lean me down, 

Sir Dagonet, one of thy long asses' ears, 

And harken if my music be not true. 

" ' Free love — free field — we love but while we 
may : 
The woods are hush'd, their music is no more : 
The leaf is dead, the yearning past away : 
New leaf, new life — the days of frost are o'er : 



THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 297 

New life, new love, to suit the newer day : 
New loves are sweet as those that went before : 
Free love — free field — we love but while we may.' 

" Ye might have moved slow-measure to my tune, 
Not stood stockstill. I made it in the woods, 
And heard it ring as true as tested gold." 

But Dagonet with one foot poised in his hand, 
" Friend, did ye mark that fountain yesterday 
Made to run wine? — but this had run itself 
All out like a long life to a sour end — 
And them that round it sat with golden cups 
To hand the wine to whosoever came — 
The twelve small damosels white as Innocence, 
In honour of poor Innocence the babe, 
Who left the gems which Innocence the Queen 
Lent to the King, and Innocence the King 
Gave for a prize — and one of those white slips 
Handed her cup and piped, the pretty one, 
' Drink, drink, Sir Fool,' and thereupon I drank. 
Spat — pish — the cup was gold, the draught was 
mud."" 

And Tristram, "Was it muddier than thy gibes? 
Is all the laughter gone dead out of thee ? — 
Not marking how the knighthood mock thee, fool — 
'Fear God: honour the King — his one true 

knight — 
Sole follower of the vows ' — for here be they 
Who knew thee swine enow before I came, 



298 THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 

Smuttier than blasted grain : but when the King 
Had made thee fool, thy vanity so shot up 
It frighted all free fool from out thy heart ; 
Which left thee less than fool, and less than swine, 
A naked aught — yet swine I hold thee still, 
For I have flung thee pearls and find thee swine." 

And little Dagonet mincing with his feet, 
" Knight, an ye fling those rubies round my neck 
In lieu of hers. Til hold thou hast some touch 
Of music, since I care not for thy pearls. 
Swine? I have wallow'd, I have wash'd — the 

world 
Is flesh and shadow — I have had my day. 
The dirty nurse. Experience, in her kind 
Hath foul'd me — an I wallow'd, then I wash'd — 
I have had my day and my philosophies — 
And thank the Lord I am King Arthur's fool. 
Swine, say ye? swine, goats, asses, rams and geese 
Troop'd round a Paynim harper once, who thrumm'd 
On such a wire as musically as thou 
Some such fine song — but never a king's fool." 

And Tristram, " Then were swine, goats, asses, 
geese 
The wiser fools, seeing thy Paynim bard 
Had such a mastery of his mystery 
That he could harp his wife up out of hell." 

Then Dagonet, turning on the ball of his foot, 
"And whither harp'st thou thine? down! and thy- 
self 



THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 299 

Down ! and two more : a helpful harper thou, 
That harpest downward ! Dost thou know the star 
We call the harp of Arthur up in heaven?" 

And Tristram, " Ay, Sir Fool, for when our King 
Was victor wellnigh day by day, the knights, 
Glorying in each new glory, set his name 
High on all hills, and in the signs of heaven." 

And Dagonet answer'd, "Ay, and when the land 
Was freed, and the Queen false, ye set yourself 
To babble about him, all to show your wit — 
And whether he were King by courtesy, 
Or King by right — and so went harping down 
The black king^s highway, got so far, and grew 
So witty that ye play'd at ducks and drakes 
With Arthur's vows on the great lake of fire. 
Tuwhoo ! do ye see it? do ye see the star? " 

"Nay, fool," said Tristram, " not in open day." 
And Dagonet, " Nay, nor will : I see it and hear. 
It makes a silent music up in heaven. 
And I, and Arthur and the angels hear. 
And then we skip." " Lo, fool," he said, " ye talk 
Fool's treason : is the King thy brother fool? " 
Then little Dagonet clapt his hands and shrilPd, 
"Ay, ay, my brother fool, the king of fools ! 
Conceits himself as God that he can make 
Figs out of thistles, silk from bristles, milk 
From burning spurge, honey from hornet-combs, 
And men from beasts — Long live the king of 
fools ! " 



300 THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 

And down the city Dagonet danced away ; 
But thro' the slowly-mellowing avenues 
And solitary passes of the wood 
Rode Tristram toward Lyonnesse and the west. 
Before him fled the face of Queen Isolt 
With ruby-circled neck, but evermore 
Past, as a rustle or twitter in the wood 
Made dull his inner, keen his outer eye 
For all that walked, or crept, or perch'd, or flew. 
Anon the face, as, when a gust hath blown, 
Unruffling waters re-collect the shape 
Of one that in them sees himself, returned ; 
But at the slot or fewmets of a deer. 
Or ev'n a falPn feather, vanished again. 

So on for all that day from lawn to lawn 
Thro' many a league-long bower he rode. At 

length 
A lodge of intertwisted beechen-boughs 
Furze-cramm'd, and bracken-rooft, the which 

himself 
Built for a summer day with Queen Isolt 
Against a shower, dark in the golden grove 
Appearing, sent his fancy back to where 
She lived a moon in that low lodge with him : 
Till Mark her lord had past, the Cornish King, 
With six or seven, when Tristram was away, 
And snatch'd her thence ; yet dreading worse than 

shame 
Her warrior Tristram, spake not any word, 
But bode his hour, devising wretchedness. 



THE LAST TOURNAMENT, 301 

And now that desert lodge to Tristram lookt 
So sweet, that halting, in he past, and sank 
Down on a drift of foliage random-blown ; 
But could not rest for musing how to smoothe 
And sleek his marriage over to the Queen. 
Perchance in lone Tintagil far from all 
The tonguesters of the court she had not heard. 
But then what folly had sent him overseas 
After she left him lonely here? a name? 
Was it the name of one in Brittany, 
Isolt, the daughter of the King? " Isolt 
Of the white hands " they call'd her : the sweet 

name 
Allured him first, and then the maid herself. 
Who served him well with those white hands of 

hers, 
And loved him well, until himself had thought 
He loved her also, wedded easily, 
But left her all as easily, and returned. 
The black-blue Irish hair and Irish eyes 
Had drawn him home — what marvel ? then he laid 
His brows upon the drifted leaf and dream'd. 

He seemM to pace the strand of Brittany 
Between Isolt of Britain and his bride. 
And show'd them both the ruby-chain, and both 
Began to struggle for it, till his Queen 
Graspt it so hard, that all her hand was red. 
Then cried the Breton, " Look, her hand is red ! 
These be no rubies, this is frozen blood, 
And melts within her hand — her hand is hot 



302 THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 

With ill desires, but this I gave thee, look, 
Is all as cool and white as any flower." 
Followed a rush of eaglets wings, and then 
A whimpering of the spirit of the child, 
Because the twain had spoiPd her carcanet. 

He dreamM ; but Arthur with a hundred spears 
Rode far, till o'er the illimitable reed. 
And many a glancing plash and sallowy isle, 
The wide-wing'd sunset of the misty marsh 
Glared on a huge machicolated tower 
That stood with open doors, whereout was rolPd 
A roar of riot, as from men secure 
Amid their marshes, ruffians at their ease 
Among their harlot-brides, an evil song. 
" Lo there,'' said one of Arthur's youth, for there, 
High on a grim dead tree before the tower, 
A goodly brother of the Table Round 
Swung by the neck : and on the boughs a shield 
Showing a shower of blood in a field noir, 
And therebeside a horn, inflamed the knights 
At that dishonour done the gilded spur. 
Till each would clash the shield, and blow the horn. 
But Arthur waved them back. Alone he rode. 
Then at the dry harsh roar of the great horn, 
That sent the face of all the marsh aloft 
An ever upward-rushing storm and cloud 
Of shriek and plume, the Red Knight heard, and 

all, 
Even to tipmost lance and topmost helm, 
In blood-red armour sallying, howl'd to the King, 



THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 303 

" The teeth of Hell flay bare and gnash thee flat ! — 
Lo ! art thou not that eunuch-hearted King 
Who fain had dipt free manhood from the world — 
The woman-worshipper? Yea, God's curse, and I! 
Slain was the brother of my paramour 
By a knight of thine, and I that heard her whine 
And snivel, being eunuch-hearted too, 
Sware by the scorpion-worm that twists in hell, 
And stings itself to everlasting death, 
To hang whatever knight of thine I fought 
And tumbled. Art thou King?-— Look to thy life ! " 

He ended : Arthur knew the voice ; the face 
Wellnigh was helmet-hidden, and the name 
Went wandering somewhere darkling in his mind. 
And Arthur deigned not use of word or sword. 
But let the drunkard, as he stretch'd from horse 
To strike him, overbalancing his bulk, 
Down from the causeway heavily to the swamp 
Fall, as the crest of some slow-arching wave, 
Heard in dead night along that table-shore, 
Drops flat, and after the great waters break 
Whitening for half a league, and thin themselves, 
Far over sands marbled with moon and cloud, 
From less and less to nothing ; thus he fell 
Head-heavy ; then the knights, who watch'd him, 

roar'd 
And shouted and leapt down upon the falPn ; 
There trampled out his face from being known, 
And sank his head in mire, and slimed themselves •• 
Nor heard the King for their own cries, but sprang 



304 THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 

Thro' open doors, and swording right and left 

Men, women, on their sodden faces, hurPd 

The tables over and the wines, and slew 

Till all the rafters rang with woman-yells, 

And all the pavement streamed with massacre : 

Then, yell with yell echoing, they fired the tower. 

Which half that autumn night, like the live North, 

Red-pulsing up thro' Alioth and Alcor, 

Made all above it, and a hundred meres 

About it, as the water Moab saw 

Come round by the East, and out beyond them flush'd 

The long low dune, and lazy-plunging sea. 

So all the ways were safe from shore to shore, 
But in the heart of Arthur pain was lord. 

Then, out of Tristram waking, the red dream 
Fled with a shout, and that low lodge returned, 
Mid-forest, and the wind among the boughs. 
He whistled his good warhorse left to graze 
Among the forest greens, vaulted upon him. 
And rode beneath an ever-showering leaf, 
Till one lone woman, weeping near a cross, 
Stay'd him. " Why weep ye ? " " Lord," she said, 

" my man 
Hath left me or is dead ; " whereon he thought — 
"What, if she hate me now? I would not this. 
What, if she love me still? I would not that. 
I know not what I would " — but said to her, 
" Yet weep not thou, lest, if thy mate return. 
He find thy favour changed and love thee not " — 



THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 305 

Then pressing day by day thro' Lyonnesse 

Last in a roky hollow, belling, heard 

The hounds of Mark, and felt the goodly hounds 

Yelp at his heart, but turning, past and gain'd 

Tintagil, half in sea, and high on land, 

A crown of towers. 

Down in a casement sat, 
A low sea-sunset glorying round her hair 
And glossy-throated grace, Isolt the Queen. 
And when she heard the feet of Tristram grind 
The spiring stone that scaled about her tower, 
Flush'd, started, met him at the doors, and there 
Belted his body with her white embrace, 
Crying aloud, "Not Mark — not Mark, my soul ! 
The footstep flutter^ me at first : not he : 
Catlike thro' his own castle steals my Mark, 
But warrior-wise thou stridest thro' his halls 
Who hates thee, as I him — ev'n to the death. 
My soul, I felt my hatred for my Mark 
Quicken within me, and knew that thou wert nigh." 
To whom Sir Tristram smiling, " I am here. 
Let be thy Mark, seeing he is not thine." 

And drawing somewhat backward she replied, 
" Can he be wrong'd who is not ev'n his own, 
But save for dread of thee had beaten me. 
Scratched, bitten, blinded, marr'd me somehow — 

Mark? 
What rights are his that dare not strike for them ? 
Not hft a hand — not, tho' he found me thus ! 



306 THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 

But harken ! have ye met him ? hence he went 
To-day for three days' hunting — as he said — 
And so returns belike within an hour. 
Mark's way, my soul! — but eat not thou with Mark, 
Because he hates thee even more than fears ; 
Nor drink : and when thou passest any wood 
Close vizor, lest an arrow from the bush 
Should leave me all alone with Mark and hell. 
My God, the measure of my hate for Mark 
Is as the measure of my love for thee." 

So, pluck'd one way by hate and one by love, 
Drain'd of her force, again she sat, and spake 
To Tristram, as he knelt before her, saying, 
" O hunter, and O blower of the horn, 
Harper, and thou hast been a rover too, 
For, ere I mated with my shambling king. 
Ye twain had fallen out about the bride 
Of one — his name is out of me — the prize. 
If prize she were — (what marvel — she could see) — 
Thine, friend ; and ever since my craven seeks 
To wreck thee villainously : but, O Sir Knight, 
What dame or damsel have ye kneel'd to last?" 

And Tristram, " Last to my Queen Paramount, 
Here now to my Queen Paramount of love 
And loveliness — ay, lovelier than when first 
Her light feet fell on our rough Lyonnesse, 
Sailing from Ireland." 

Softly laugh'd Isolt ; 
" Flatter me not, for hath not our great Queen 



THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 307 

My dole of beauty trebled ? " and he said, 
" Her beauty is her beauty, and thine thine, 
And thine is more to me — soft, gracious, kind — 
Save when thy Mark is kindled on thy lips 
Most gracious ; but she, haughty, ev'n to him, 
Lancelot ; for I have seen him wan enow 
To make one doubt if ever the great Queen 
Have yielded him her love." 

To whom Isolt, 
"Ah then, false hunter and false harper, thou 
Who brakest thro' the scruple of my bond. 
Calling me thy white hind, and saying to me. 
That Guinevere had sinn'd against the highest. 
And I — misyoked with such a want of man — 
That I could hardly sin against the lowest." 

He answer'd, " O my soul, be comforted ! 
If this be sweet, to sin in leading-strings, 
If here be comfort, and if ours be sin, 
Crown'd warrant had we for the crowning sin 
That made us happy : but how ye greet me — fear 
And fault and doubt — no word of that fond tale — 
Thy deep heart-yearnings, thy sweet memories 
Of Tristram in that year he was away." 

And, saddening on the sudden, spake Isolt, 
" I had forgotten all in my strong joy 
To see thee — yearnings? — ay ! for, hour by hour. 
Here in the never-ended afternoon, 
O sweeter than all memories of thee, 



308 THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 

Deeper than any yearnings after thee 

Seem'd those far-rolling, westward-smiling seas, 

WatchM from this tower. Isolt of Britain dash'd 

Before Isolt of Brittany on the strand, 

Would that have chilPd her bride-kiss? Wedded 

her? 
Fought in her father's battles? wounded there? 
The King was all fulfilPd with gratefulness, 
And she, my namesake of the hands, that heaPd 
Thy hurt and heart with unguent and caress — 
Well — can I wish her any huger wrong 
Than having known thee? her too hast thou left 
To pine and waste in those sweet memories. 
O were I not my Mark's, by whom all men 
Are noble, I should hate thee more than love." 

And Tristram, fondling her light hands, replied, 
"Grace, Queen, for being loved : she loved me well. 
Did I love her? the name at least I loved. 
Isolt? — I fought his battles, for Isolt ! 
The night was dark ; the true star set. Isolt ! 

The name was ruler of the dark Isolt? 

Care not for her! patient, and prayerful, meek, 
Pale-blooded, she will yield herself to God." 

And Isolt answer'd, "Yea, and why not I? 
I^ine is the larger need, who am not meek, 
Pale-blooded, prayerful. Let me tell thee now. 
Here one black, mute midsummer night I sat, 
Lonely, but musing on thee, wondering where. 
Murmuring a light song I had heard thee sing, 



THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 309 

And once or twice I spake thy name aloud. 

Then flashed a levin-brand ; and near me stood, 

In fuming sulphur blue and green, a fiend — 

Mark's way to steal behind one in the dark — 

For there was Mark : ' He has wedded her,' he said, 

Not said, but hiss'd it : then this crown of towers 

So shook to such a roar of all the sky, 

That here in utter dark I swoon'd away, 

And woke again in utter dark, and cried, 

* I will flee hence and give myself to God ' — 

And thou wert lying in thy new leman's arms." 

Then Tristram, ever dallying with her hand, 
" May God be with thee, sweet, when old and gray, 
And past desire ! " a saying that anger'd her. 
" 'May God be with thee, sweet, when thou art old, 
And sweet no more to me ! ' I need Him now. 
For when had Lancelot utter'd aught so gross 
Ev'n to the swineherd's malkin in the mast? 
The greater man, the greater courtesy. 
Far other was the Tristram, Arthur's knight! 
But thou, thro' ever harrying thy wild beasts — 
Save that to touch a harp, tilt with a lance 
Becomes thee well — art grown wild beast thyself. 
How darest thou, if lover, push me even 
In fancy from thy side, and set me far 
In the gray distance, half a life away. 
Her to be loved no more ? Unsay it, unswear ! 
Flatter me rather, seeing me so weak. 
Broken with Mark and hate and solitude, 
Thy marriage and mine own, that I should suck 



310 THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 

Lies like sweet wines : lie to me : I believe. 
Will ye not lie? not swear, as there ye kneel, 
And solemnly as when ye sware to him. 
The man of men, our King — My God, the power 
Was once in vows when men believed the King ! 
They lied not then, who sware, and thro' their vows 
The King prevailing made his realm : — I say, 
Swear to me thou wilt love me ev'n when old, 
Gray-hair'd, and past desire, and in despair." 

Then Tristram, pacing moodily up and down, 
" Vows ! did you keep the vow you made to Mark 
More than I mine? Lied, say ye? Nay, but learnt. 
The vow that binds too strictly snaps itself — 
My knighthood taught me this — ay, being snapt — 
We run more counter to the soul thereof 
Than had we never sworn. I swear no more. 
I swore to the great King, and am forsworn. 
For once — ev''n to the height — I honourM him. 
'Man, is he man at all?' methought, when first 
I rode from our rough Lyonnesse, and beheld 
That victor of the Pagan throned in hall — 
His hair, a sun that ray'd from off a brow 
Like hillsnow high in heaven, the steel-blue eyes. 
The golden beard that clothed his lips with light — 
Moreover, that weird legend of his birth, 
With Merlin's mystic babble about his end 
Amazed me ; then, his foot was on a stool 
Shaped as a dragon ; he seem'd to me no man. 
But Michael trampling Satan ; so I sware. 
Being amazed : but this went by — The vows ! 



THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 311 

O ay — the wholesome madness of an hour — 

They serve their use, their time ; for every knight 

Believed himself a greater than himself, 

And every follower eyed him as a God ; 

Till he, being lifted up beyond himself. 

Did mightier deeds than elsewise he had done, 

And so the realm was made ; but then their vows — 

First mainly thro' that sullying of our Queen — 

Began to gall the knighthood, asking whence 

Had Arthur right to bind them to himself ? 

Dropt down from heaven? wash'd up from out the 

deep? 
They faiPd to trace him thro' the flesh and blood 
Of our old kings : whence then ? a doubtful lord 
To bind them by inviolable vows. 
Which flesh and blood perforce would violate : 
For feel this arm of mine — the tide within 
Red with free chase and heather-scented air. 
Pulsing full man ; can Arthur make me pure 
As any maiden child ? lock up my tongue 
From uttering freely what I freely hear? 
Bind me to one ? The wide world laughs at it. 
And worldling of the world am I, and know 
The ptarmigan that whitens ere his hour 
Woos his own end ; we are not angels here 
Nor shall be : vows — I am woodman of the 

woods, 
And hear the garnet-headed yaffingale 
Mock them : my soul, we love but while we may ; 
And therefore is my love so large for thee, 
Seeing it is not bounded save by love." 



312. THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 

Here ending, he moved toward her, and she said, 
" Good : an I turnM away my love for thee 
To some one thrice as courteous as thyself — 
For courtesy wins woman all as well 
As valour may, but he that closes both 
Is perfect, he is Lancelot — taller indeed, 
Rosier and comelier, thou — but say I loved 
This knightliest of all knights, and cast thee back 
Thine own small saw, ' We love but while we may,' 
Well then, what answer ? " 

He that while she spake. 
Mindful of what he brought to adorn her with, 
The jewels, had let one finger lightly touch 
The warm white apple of her throat, replied, 
" Press this a little closer, sweet, until — 
Come, I am hungerd and half-anger'd — meat. 
Wine, wine — and I will love thee to the death. 
And out beyond into the dream to come." 

So then, when both were brought to full accord, 
She rose, and set before him all he wilPd ; 
And after these had comforted the blood 
With meats and wines, and satiated their hearts — 
Now talking of their woodland paradise. 
The deer, the dews, the fern, the founts, the lawns ; 
Now mocking at the much ungainliness. 
And craven shifts, and long crane legs of Mark — 
Then Tristram laughing caught the harp, and sang : 

"Ay, ay, O ay — the winds that bend the brier! 
A star in heaven, a star within the mere ! 



THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 313 

Ay, ay, O ay — a star was my desire, 
And one was far apart, and one was near : 
Ay, ay, O ay — the winds that bow the grass ! 
And one was water and one star was fire, 
And one will ever shine and one will pass. 
Ay, ay, O ay — the winds that move the mere." 

Then in the light's last glimmer Tristram show'd 
And swung the ruby carcanet. She cried, 
" The collar of some Order, which our King 
Hath newly founded, all for thee, my soul. 
For thee, to yield thee grace beyond thy peers." 

"Not so, my Queen," he said, "but the red fruit 
Grown on a magic oak-tree in mid-heaven, 
And won by Tristram as a tourney-prize. 
And hither brought by Tristram for his last 
Love-offering and peace-offering unto thee." 

He spoke, he turn'd, then, flinging round her 

neck, 
Claspt it, and cried " Thine Order, O my Queen ! " 
But, while he bow'd to kiss the jewelFd throat, 
Out of the dark, just as the lips had touched, 
Behind him rose a shadow and a shriek — 
" Mark's way," said Mark, and clove him thro' the 

brain. 

That night came Arthur home, and while he 
climb'd, 
All in a death-dumb autumn-dripping gloom. 



314 THE LAST TOURNAMENT. 

The stairway to the hall, and look'd and saw 
The great Queen's bower was dark, — about his feet 
A voice clung sobbing till he question 'd it, 
"What art thou?" and the voice about his feet 
Sent up an answer, sobbing, " I am thy fool, 
And I shall never make thee smile again." 



GUINEVERE. 315 



GUINEVERE. 

Queen Guinevere had fled the court, and sat 
There in the holy house at Ahnesbury 
Weeping, none with her save a little maid, 
A novice : one low light betwixt them burn'd 
Blurr'd by the creeping mist, for all abroad, 
Beneath a moon unseen albeit at full. 
The white mist, like a face-cloth to the face, 
Clung to the dead earth, and the land was still. 

For hither had she fled, her cause of flight 
Sir Modred ; he that like a subtle beast 
Lay couchant with his eyes upon the throne, 
Ready to spring, waiting a chance : for this 
He chiird the popular praises of the King 
With silent smiles of slow disparagement ; 
And tampered with the Lords of the White Horse, 
Heathen, the brood by Hengist left; and sought 
To make disruption in the Table Round 
Of Arthur, and to splinter it into feuds 
Serving his traitorous end ; and all his aims 
Were sharpenM by strong hate for Lancelot. 

For thus it chanced one morn when all the court, 
Green-suited, but with plumes that mock'd the may, 



316 GUINEVERE. 

Had been, their wont, a-maying and returned. 

That Modred still in green, all ear and eye, 

Climb'd to the high top of the garden-wall 

To spy some secret scandal if he might. 

And saw the Queen who sat betwixt her best 

Enid, and lissome Vivien, of her court 

The wiliest and the worst ; and more than this 

He saw not, for Sir Lancelot passing by 

Spied where he couch'd, and as the gardener's hand 

Picks from the colewort a green caterpillar, 

So from the high wall and the flowering grove 

Of grasses Lancelot pluck'd him by the heel, 

And cast him as a worm upon the way ; 

But when he knew the Prince tho' marr'd with 

dust. 
He, reverencing king's blood in a bad man, 
Made such excuses as he might, and these 
Full knightly without scorn ; for in those days 
No knight of Arthur's noblest dealt in scorn ; 
But, if a man were halt or hunch'd, in him 
By those whom God had made full-limb'd and tall, 
Scorn was allow'd as part of his defect. 
And he was answer'd softly by the King 
And all his Table. So Sir Lancelot holp 
To raise the Prince, who rising twice or thrice 
Full sharply smote his knees, and smiled, and went : 
But, ever after, the small violence done 
Rankled in him and ruffled all his heart. 
As the sharp wind that ruffles all day long 
A little bitter pool about a stone 
On the bare coast. 



GUINEVERE. 317 

But when Sir Lancelot told 
This matter to the Queen, at first she laugh'd 
Lightly, to think of Modred's dusty fall, 
Then shudder'd, as the village wife who cries 
" I shudder, some one steps across my grave ; " 
Then laugh'd again, but faintlier, for indeed 
She half-foresaw that he, the subtle beast, 
Would track her guilt until he found, and hers 
Would be for evermore a name of scorn. 
Henceforward rarely could she front in hall. 
Or elsewhere, Modred's narrow foxy face, 
Heart-hiding smile, and gray persistent eye : 
Henceforward too, the Powers that tend the soul, 
To help it from the death that cannot die. 
And save it even in, extremes, began 
To vex and plague her. Many a time for hours, 
Beside the placid breathings of the King, 
In the dead night, grim faces came and went 
Before her, or a vague spiritual fear — 
Like to some doubtful noise of creaking doors. 
Heard by the watcher in a haunted house, 
That keeps the rust of murder on the walls — 
Held her awake : or if she slept, she dreamed 
An awful dream ; for then she seem'd to stand 
On some vast plain before a setting sun. 
And from the sun there swiftly made at her 
A ghastly something, and its shadow flew 
Before it, till it touch'd her, and she turn'd — 
When lo ! her own, that broadening from her feet, 
And blackening, swallowed all the land, and in it 
Far cities burnt, and with a cry she woke. 



318 • GUINEVERE. 

And all this trouble did not pass but grew ; 

Till ev^n the clear face of the guileless King, 

And trustful courtesies of household life, 

Became her bane ; and at the last she said, 

" O Lancelot, get thee hence to thine own land, 

For if thou tarry we shall meet again, 

And if we meet again, some evil chance 

Will make the smouldering scandal break and blaze 

Before the people, and our lord the King." 

And Lancelot ever promised, but remained, 

And still they met and met. Again she said, 

" O Lancelot, if thou love me get thee hence." 

And then they were agreed upon a night 

(When the good King should not be there) to meet 

And part for ever. Passion-pale they met 

And greeted : hands in hands, and eye to eye, 

Low on the border of her couch they sat 

Stammering and staring : it was their last hour, 

A madness of farewells. And Modred brought 

His creatures to the basement of the tower 

For testimony ; and crying with full voice 

" Traitor, come out, ye are trapt at last," aroused 

Lancelot, who rushing outward lionlike 

Leapt on him, and hurl'd him headlong, and he fell 

Stunn'd, and his creatures took and bare him off, 

And all was still : then she, " The end is come. 

And I am shamed for ever ; " and he said, 

" Mine be the shame ; mine was the sin: but rise, 

And fly to my strong castle overseas : 

There will I hide thee, till my life shall end, 

There hold thee with my life against the work' 



GUINEVERE. 319 

She answerM, "Lancelot, wilt thou hold me so? 
Nay, friend, for we have taken our farewells. 
Would God that thou couldst hide me from my- 
self! 
Mine is the shame, for I was wife, and thou 
Unwedded : yet rise now, and let us fly, 
For I will draw me into sanctuary. 
And bide my doom." So Lancelot got her horse, 
Set her thereon, and mounted on his own. 
And then they rode to the divided way. 
There kiss'd, and parted weeping : for he past, 
Love-loyal to the least wish of the Queen, 
Back to his land ; but she to Almesbury 
Fled all night long by glimmering waste and weald, 
And heard the Spirits of the waste and weald 
Moan as she fled, or thought she heard them moan : 
And in herself she moan'd " Too late, too late ! " 
Till in the cold wind that foreruns the morn, 
A blot in heaven, the Raven, flying high, 
CroakM, and she thought, " He spies a field of 

death ; 
For now the Heathen of the Northern Sea, 
Lured by the crimes and frailties of the court. 
Begin to slay the folk, and spoil the land." 

And when she came to Almesbury she spake 
There to the nuns, and said, " Mine enemies 
Pursue me, but, O peaceful Sisterhood, 
Receive, and yield me sanctuary, nor ask 
Her name to whom ye yield it, till her time 
To tell you : " and her beauty-, grace and power, 



320 GUINEVERE. 

Wrought as a charm upon them, and they spared 
To ask it. 

So the stately Queen abode 
For many a week, unknown, among the nuns ; 
Nor with them mix'd, nor told her name, not 

sought, 
Wrapt in her grief, for housel or for shrift, 
But communed only with the little maid, 
Who pleased her with a babbling heedlessness 
Which often lured her from herself; but now, 
This night, a rumour wildly blown about 
Came, that Sir Modred had usurped the realm, 
And leagued him with the heathen, while the 

King 
Was waging war on Lancelot : then she thought, 
" With what a hate the people and the King 
Must hate me," and bow'd down upon her hands 
Silent, until the little maid, who brook'd 
No silence, brake it, uttering " Late ! so late ! 
What hour, I wonder, now?" and when she drew 
No answer, by and by began to hum 
An air the nuns had taught her; "Late, so late!" 
Which when she heard, the Queen look'd up, and 

said, 
" O maiden, if indeed ye list to sing, 
Sing, and unbind my heart that I may weep." 
Whereat full wilUngly sang the little maid. 

" Late, late, so late ! and dark the night and 
chill ! 



GUINEVERE. 321 



Late, late, so late ! but we can enter still. 
Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now. 



" No light had we : for that we do repent ; 
And learning this, the bridegroom will relent 
Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now. 



" No light : so late ! and dark and chill the night ! 
O let us in, that we may find the light ! 
Too late, too late : ye cannot enter now. 

"Have we not heard the bridegroom is so sweet? 
O let us in, tho' late, to kiss his feet ! 
No, no, too late ! ye cannot enter now." 

So sang the novice, Avhile full passionately, 
Her head upon her hands, remembering 
Her thought when first she came, wept the sad 

Queen. 
Then said the little novice prattling to her, 

" O pray you, noble lady, weep no more ; 
But let my words, the words of one so small, 
Who knowing nothing knows but to obey, 
And if I do not there is penance given — 
Comfort your sorrows ; for they do not flow 
From evil done ; right sure am I of that, 
Who see your tender grace and stateliness. 
But weigh your sorrows with our lord the King's, 
And weighing find them less; for gone is he 
To wage grim war against Sir Lancelot there. 



322 GUINEVERE. 

Round that strong castle where he holds the Queen ; 

And Modred whom he left in charge of all, 

The traitor — Ah sweet lady, the King's grief 

For his own self, and his own Queen, and realm, 

Must needs be thrice as great as any of ours. 

For me, I thank the saints, I am not great. 

For if there ever come a grief to me 

I cry my cry in silence, and have done. 

None knows it, and my tears have brought me 

good: 
But even were the griefs of little ones 
As great as those of great ones, yet this grief 
Is added to the griefs the great must bear, 
That howsoever much they may desire 
Silence, they cannot weep behind a cloud : 
As even here they talk at Almesbury 
About the good King and his wicked Queen, 
And were I such a King with such a Queen, 
Well might I wish to veil her wickedness, 
But were I such a King, it could not be." 

Then to her own sad heart mutter'd the Queen, 
"Will the child kill me with her innocent talk?" 
But openly she answer'd, " Must not I, 
If this false traitor have displaced his lord, 
Grieve with the common grief of all the realm?" 

" Yea," said the maid, " this is all woman's grief, 
That she is woman, whose disloyal life 
Hath wrought confusion in the Table Round 
Which good King Arthur founded, years ago, 



GUINEVERE. 323 

With signs and miracles and wonders, there 
At Camelot, ere the coming of the Queen.'" 

Then thought the Queen within herself again, 
" Will the child kill me with her foolish prate ? " 
But openly she spake and said to her, 
" O little maid, shut in by nunnery walls, 
What canst thou know of Kings and Tables Round, 
Or what of signs and wonders, but the signs 
And simple miracles of thy nunnery?" 

To whom the little novice garrulously, 
'• Yea, but I know : the land was full of signs 
And wonders ere the coming of the Queen. 
So said my father, and himself was knight 
Of the great Table — at the founding of it ; 
And rode thereto from Lyonnesse, and he said 
That as he rode, an hour or maybe twain 
After the sunset, down the coast, he heard 
Strange music, and he paused, and turning — there, 
All down the lonely coast of Lyonnesse, 
Each with a beacon-star upon his head. 
And with a wild sea-light about his feet. 
He saw them — headland after headland flame 
Far on into the rich heart of the west : 
And in the light the white mermaiden swam, 
And strong man-breasted things stood from the sea. 
And sent a deep sea-voice thro' all the land. 
To which the little elves of chasm and cleft 
Made answer, sounding like a distant horn. 
So said my father — yea, and furthermore. 



324 GUINEVERE, 

Next morning, while he past the dim-lit woods, 
Himself beheld three spirits mad with joy 
Come dashing down on a tall wayside flower, 
That shook beneath them, as the thistle shakes 
When three gray linnets wrangle for the seed : 
And still at evenings on before his horse 
The flickering fairy-circle wheePd and broke 
Flying, and linked again, and wheePd and broke 
Flying, for all the land was full of life. 
And when at last he came to Camelot, 
A wreath of airy dancers hand-in-hand 
Swung round the lighted lantern of the hall ; 
And in the hall itself was such a feast 
As never man had dream'd ; for every knight 
Had whatsoever meat he long'd for served 
By hands unseen ; and even as he said 
Down in the cellars merry bloated things 
Shouldered the spigot, straddling on the butts 
While the wine ran : so glad were spirits and men 
Before the coming of the sinful Queen." 

Then spake the Queen and somewhat bitterly, 
"Were they so glad? ill prophets were they all, 
Spirits and men : could none of them foresee, 
Not even thy wise father with his signs 
And wonders, what has falPn upon the realm?" 

To whom the novice garrulously again, 
" Yea, one, a bard ; of whom my father said, 
Full many a noble war-song had he sung, 
Ev'n in the presence of an enemy's fleet, 



GUINEVERE. 325 

Between the steep cliff and the coming wave ; 

And many a mystic lay of life and death 

Had chanted on the smoky mountain-tops, 

When round him bent the spirits of the hills 

With all their dewy hair blown back like flame : 

So said my father — and that night the bard 

Sang Arthur's glorious wars, and sang the King 

As wellnigh more than man, and raiPd at those 

Who caird him the false son of Gorlois : 

For there was no man knew from whence he came ; 

But after tempest, when the long wave broke 

All down the thundering shores of Bude and Bos, 

There came a day as still as heaven, and then 

They found a naked child upon the sands 

Of dark Tintagil by the Cornish sea ; 

And that was Arthur ; and they foster'd him 

Till he by miracle was approven King : 

And that his grave should be a mystery 

From all men, like his birth ; and could he find 

A woman in her womanhood as great 

As he was in his manhood, then, he sang, 

The twain together well might change the world. 

But even in the middle of his song 

He falter'd, and his hand fell from the harp, 

And pale he turn'd, and reePd, and would have falTn, 

But that they stay'd him up ; nor would he tell 

His vision; but what doubt that he foresaw 

This evil work of Lancelot and the Queen ? " 

Then thought the Queen, " Lo ! they have set 
her on, 



326 GUINEVERE. 

Our simple-seeming Abbess and her nuns, 

To play upon me,^' and bow'd her head nor spake. 

Whereat the novice crying, with clasp'd hands, 

Shame on her own garrulity garrulously, 

Said the good nuns would check her gadding tongue 

Full often, "and, sweet lady, if I seem 

To vex an ear too sad to listen to me, 

Unmannerly, with prattling and the tales 

Which my good father told me, check me too 

Nor let me shame my father's memory, one 

Of noblest manners, tho' himself would say 

Sir Lancelot had the noblest; and he died, 

Kiird in a tilt, come next, five summers back, 

And left me ; but of others who remain, 

And of the two first-famed for courtesy — 

And pray you check me if I ask amiss — 

But pray you, which had noblest, while you moved 

Among them, Lancelot or our lord the King?" 

Then the pale Queen looked up and answered her, 
" Sir Lancelot, as became a noble knight. 
Was gracious to all ladies, and the same 
In open battle or the tilting-field 
Forbore his own advantage, and the King 
In open battle or the tilting-field 
Forbore his own advantage, and these two 
Were the most nobly-mannerM men of all; 
For manners are- not idle, but the fruit 
Of loyal nature, and of noble mind." 

" Yea," said the maid, " be manners such fair fruit? 
Then Lancelot's needs must be a thousand-fold 



GUINEVERE. ZIT 

Less noble, being, as all rumour runs, 
The most disloyal friend in all the world." 

To which a mournful answer made the Queen : 
" O closed about by narrowing nunnery-walls, 
What knowest thou of the world, and all its lights 
And shadows, all the wealth and all the woe? 
If ever Lancelot, that most noble knight, 
Were for one hour less noble than himself, 
Pray for him that he scape the doom of fire, 
And weep for her who drew him to his doom." 

" Yea," said the little novice, " I pray for both ; 
But I should all as soon believe that his. 
Sir Lancelot's, were as noble as the King's, 
As I could think, sweet lady, yours would be 
Such as they are, were you the sinful Queen." 

So she, like many another babbler, hurt 
Whom she would soothe, and harm'd where she 

would heal ; 
For here a sudden flush of wrathful heat 
Fired all the pale face of the Queen, who cried, 
*' Such as thou art be never maiden more 
For ever! thou their tool, set on to plague 
And play upon, and harry me, petty spy 
And traitress." When that storm of anger brake 
From Guinevere, aghast the maiden rose. 
White as her veil, and stood before the Queen 
As tremulously as foam upon the beach 
Stands in a wind, ready to break and fly, 
And when the Queen had added " Get thee hence," 



328 GUINEVERE. 

Fled frighted. Then that other left alone 
Sigh'd, and began to gather heart again, 
Saying in herself, ''The simple, fearful child 
Meant nothing, but my own too-fearful guilt, 
Simpler than any child, betrays itself. 
But help me, heaven, for surely I repent. 
For what is true repentance but in thought — 
Not ev'n in inmost thought to think again 
The sins that made the past so pleasant to us : 
And I have sworn never to see him more, 
To see him more." 

And ev'n in saying this, 
Her memory from old habit of the mind 
Went slipping back upon the golden days 
In which she saw him first, when Lancelot came, 
Reputed the best knight and goodliest man. 
Ambassador, to lead her to his lord 
Arthur, and led her forth, and far ahead 
Of his and her retinue moving, they, 
Rapt in sweet talk or lively, all on love 
And sport and tilts and pleasure, (for the time 
Was maytime, and as yet no sin was dream'd,) 
Rode under groves that lookM a paradise 
Of blossom, over sheets of hyacinth 
That seem'd the heavens upbreaking thro' the earth, 
And on from hill to hill, and every day 
Beheld at noon in some delicious dale 
The silk pavilions of King Arthur raised 
For brief repast or afternoon repose 
By couriers gone before ; and on again, 



GUINEVERE. 329 

Till yet once more ere set of sun they saw 
The Dragon of the great Pendragonship, 
That crovvn'd the state pavilion of the King, 
Blaze by the rushing brook or silent well. 

But when the Queen immersed in such a trance, 
And moving thro' the past unconsciously, 
Came to that point where first she saw the King 
Ride toward her from the city, sigh'd to find 
Her journey done, glanced at him, thought him 

cold. 
High, self-contain'd, and passionless, not like him, 
" Not like my Lancelot " — while she brooded thus 
And grew half-guilty in her thoughts again, 
There rode an armed warrior to the doors. 
A murmuring whisper thro' the nunnery ran. 
Then on a sudden a cry, " The King." She sat 
Stiff-stricken, listening ; but when armed feet 
Thro' the long gallery from the outer doors 
Rang coming, prone from off her seat she fell, 
And groveird with her face against the floor : 
There with her milkwhite arms and shadowy hair 
She made her face a darkness from the King : 
And in the darkness heard his armed feet 
Pause by her ; then came silence, then a voice, 
Monotonous and hollow like a Ghost's 
Denouncing judgment, but tho' changed, the King's : 

" Liest thou here so low, the child of one 
I honour'd, happy, dead before thy shame? 
Well is it that no child is born of thee. 



330 GUINEVERE. 

The children born of thee are sword and fire, 

Red ruin, and the breaking up of laws, 

The craft of kindred and the Godless hosts 

Of heathen swarming o'er the Northern Sea ; 

Whom I, while yet Sir Lancelot, my right arm 

The mightiest of my knights, abode with me, 

Have everywhere about this land of Christ 

In twelve great battles ruining overthrown. 

And knowest thou now from whence I come — 

from him. 
From waging bitter war with him : and he. 
That did not shun to smite me in worse way. 
Had yet that grace of courtesy in him left, 
He spared to lift his hand against the King 
Who made him knight : but many a knight was 

slain ; 
And many more, and all his kith and kin 
Clave to him, and abode in his own land. 
And many more when Modred raised revolt, 
Forgetful of their troth and fealty, clave 
To Modred, and a remnant stays with me. 
And of this remnant will I leave a part, 
True men who love me still, for whom I live, 
To guard thee in the wild hour coming on, 
Lest but a hair of this low head be harm'd. 
Fear not : thou shalt be guarded till my death. 
Howbeit I know, if ancient prophecies 
Have err'd not, that I march to meet my doom. 
Thou hast not made my life so sweet to me. 
That I the King should greatly care to live ; 
For thou hast spoilt the purpose of my life. 



GUINEVERE. 331 

Bear with me for the last time while I show, 

Ev'n for thy sake, the sin which thou hast sinn'd. 

For when the Roman left us, and their law 

Relaxed its hold upon us, and the ways 

Were filFd with rapine, here and there a deed 

Of prowess done redressed a random wrong. 

But I was tirst of all the kings who drew 

The knighthood-errant of this realm and all 

The realms together under me, their Head, 

In that fair Order of my Table Round, 

A glorious company, the flower of men, 

To serve as model for the mighty world, 

And be the fair beginning of a time. 

I made them lay their hands in mine and swear 

To reverence the King, as if he were 

Their conscience, and their conscience as their 

King, 
To break the heathen and uphold the Christ, 
To ride abroad redressing human wrongs. 
To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it, 
To honour his own word as if his God's, 
To lead sweet lives in purest chastity, 
To love one maiden only, cleave to her, 
And worship her by years of noble deeds, 
Until they won her ; for indeed I knew 
Of no more subtle master under heaven 
Than is the maiden passion for a maid. 
Not only to keep down the base in man, 
But teach high thought, and amiable words 
And courtliness, and the desire of fame, 
And love of truth, and all that make^ a man. 



332 GUINEVERE. 

And all this throve before I wedded thee, 

Believing, 'lo mine helpmate, one to feel 

My purpose and rejoicing in my joy.' 

Then came thy shameful sin with Lancelot ; 

Then came the sin of Tristram and Isolt ; 

Then others, following these my mightiest knights. 

And drawing foul ensample from fair names, 

Sinn'd also, till the loathsome opposite 

Of all my heart had destined did obtain, 

And all thro' thee ! so that this life of mine 

I guard as God's high gift from scathe and wrong, 

Not greatly care to lose ; but rather think 

How sad it were for Arthur, should he live, 

To sit once more within his lonely hall. 

And miss the wonted number of my knights, 

And miss to hear high talk of noble deeds 

As in the golden days before thy sin. 

For which of us, who might be left, could speak 

Of the pure heart, nor seem to glance at thee? 

And in thy bowers of Camelot or of Usk 

Thy shadow still would glide from room to room, 

And I should evermore be vext with thee 

In hanging robe or vacant ornament, 

Or ghostly footfall echoing on the stair. 

For think not, tho' thou wouldst not love thy lord, 

Thy lord has wholly lost his love for thee. 

I am not made of so slight elements. 

Yet must I leave thee, woman, to thy shame. 

I hold that man the worst of public foes 

Who either for hisvown or children's sake. 

To save his blood from scandal, lets the wife 



GUINEVERE. ZZZ 

Whom he knows false, abide and rule the house : 
For being thro' his cowardice allowed 
Her station, taken everywhere for pure, 
She like a new disease, unknown to men, 
Creeps, no precaution used, among the crowd, 
Makes wicked lightnings of her eyes, and saps 
The fealty of our friends, and stirs the pulse 
With devil's leaps, and poisons half the young. 
Worst of the worst were that man he that reigns ! 
Better the King's waste hearth and aching heart 
Than thou reseated in thy place of light. 
The mockery of my people, and their bane." 

He paused, and in the pause she crept an inch 
Nearer, and laid her hands about his feet. 
Far off a solitary trumpet blew. 
Then waiting by the doors the warhorse neigh'd 
As at a friend's voice, and he spake again : 

" Yet think not that I come to urge thy crimes, 
I did not come to curse thee, Guinevere, 
I, whose vast pity almost makes me die 
To see thee, laying there thy golden head, 
My pride in happier summers, at my feet. 
The wrath which forced my thoughts on that fierce 

law. 
The doom of treason and the flaming death, 
(When first I learnt thee hidden here) is past. 
The pang — which while I weigh'd thy heart with 

one 
Too wholly true to dream untruth in thee, 



334 GUINEVERE. 

Made my tears burn — is also past — in part. 
And all is past, the sin is sinn'd, and I, 
Lo ! I forgive thee, as Eternal God 
Forgives : do thou for thine own soul the rest. 
But how to take last leave of all I loved ? 

golden hair, with which I used to play- 
Not knowing ! O imperial-moulded form. 
And beauty such as never woman wore, 
Until it came a kingdom's curse with thee — 

1 cannot touch thy lips, they are not mine, 

But Lancelot's : nay, they never were the King's. 

I cannot take thy hand ; that too is flesh, 

And in the flesh thou hast sinn'd ; and mine own 

flesh. 
Here looking down on thine polluted, cries 
' I loathe thee : ' yet not less, O Guinevere, 
For I was ever virgin save for thee, 
My love thro' flesh hath wrought into my life 
So far, that my doom is, I love thee still. 
Let no man dream but that I love thee still. 
Perchance, and so thou purify thy soul, 
And so thou lean on our fair father Christ, 
Hereafter in that world where all are pure 
We two may meet before high God, and thou 
Wilt spring to me, and claim me thine, and know 
I am thine husband — not a smaller soul. 
Nor Lancelot, nor another. Leave me that, 
I charge thee, my last hope. Now must I hence. 
Thro' the thick night I hear the trumpet blow : 
They summon me their King to lead mine hosts 
Far down to that great battle in the west, 



GUINEVERE. 335 

Where I must strike against the man they call 
My sister's son — no kin of mine, who leagues 
With Lords of the White Horse, heathen, and 

knights, 
Traitors — and strike him dead, and meet myself 
Death, or I know not what mysterious doom. 
And thou remaining here wilt learn the event ; 
But hither shall I never come again. 
Never lie by thy side ; see thee no more — 
Farewell ! " 

And while she grovell'd at his feet. 
She felt the King's breath wander o'er her neck, 
And in the darkness o'er her fallen head, 
Perceived the waving of his hands that blest. 

Then, listening till those armed steps were gone, 
Rose the pale Queen, and in her anguish found 
The casement : " Perad venture," so she thought, 
" If I might see his face, and not be seen." 
And lo, he sat on horseback at the door ! 
And near him the sad nuns with each a light 
Stood, and he gave them charge about the Queen, 
To guard and foster her for evermore. 
And while he spake to these his helm was lower'd, 
To which for crest the golden dragon clung 
Of Britain ; so she did not see the face, 
Which then was as an angel's, but she saw, 
Wet with the mists and smitten by the lights, 
The Dragon of the great Pendragonship 
Blaze, making all the night a steam of fire. 
And even then he turn'd ; and more and more 



336 GUINEVERE. 

The moony vapour rolling round the King, 
Who seem'd the phantom of a Giant in it, 
Enwound him fold by fold, and make him gray 
And grayer, till himself became as mist 
Before her, moving ghostlike to his doom. 

Then she stretch^ out her arms and cried aloud 
" Oh Arthur ! " there her voice brake suddenly. 
Then — as a stream that spouting from a cliff 
Fails in mid air, but gathering at the base 
Re-makes itself, and flashes down the vale — 
Went on in passionate utterance : 

" Gone — my lord ! 
Gone thro' my sin to slay and to be slain ! 
And he forgave me, and I could not speak. 
Farewell? I should have answerVl his farewell. 
His mercy choked me. Gone, my lord the King, 
My own true lord ! how dare I call him mine? 
The shadow of another cleaves to me, 
And makes me one pollution : he, the King, 
Caird me polluted : shall I kill myself ? 
What help in that? I cannot kill my sin, 
If soul be soul ; nor can I kill my shame ; 
No, nor by living can I live it down. 
The days will grow to weeks, the weeks to months, 
The months will add themselves and make the 

years, 
The years will roll into the centuries, 
And mine will ever be a name of scorn. 
I must not dwell on that defeat of fame. 



GUINEVERE. 337 

Let the world be ; that is but of the world 
What else ? what hope ? I think there was a hope, 
Except he mock'd me when he spake of hope ; 
His hope he calPd it ; but he never mocks, 
For mockery is the fume of little hearts. 
And blessed be the King, who hath forgiven 
My wickedness to him, and left me hope 
That in mine own heart I can live down sin 
And be his mate hereafter in the heavens 
Before high God. Ah great and gentle lord. 
Who wast, as is the conscience of a saint 
Among his warring senses, to thy knights — 
To whom my false voluptuous pride, that took 
Full easily all impressions from below, 
Would not look up, or half-despised the height 
To which I would not or I could not climb — 
I thought I could not breathe in that fine air 
That pure severity of perfect light — 
I wanted warmth and colour which I found 
In Lancelot — now I see thee what thou art. 
Thou art the highest and most human too, 
Not Lancelot, nor another. Is there none 
Will tell the King I love him tho' so late? 
Now — ere he goes to the great Battle? none : 
Myself must tell him in that purer life. 
But now it were too daring. Ah my God, 
What might I not have made of thy fair world, 
Had I but loved thy highest creature here? 
It was my duty to have loved the highest : 
It surely was my profit had I known : 
It would have been my pleasure had I seen. 



338 GUINEVERE. 

We needs must love the highest when we see it, 
Not Lancelot, nor another." 

Here her hand 
Grasp'd, made her vail her eyes : she look'd and 

saw 
The novice, weeping, suppliant, and said to her, 
" Yea, little maid, for am /not forgiven?' 
Then glancing up beheld the holy nuns 
All round her, weeping ; and her heart was loosed 
Within her, and she wept with these and said, 

"Ye know me then, that wicked one who broke 
The vast design and purpose of the King. 

shut me round with narrowing nunnery- walls, 
Meek maidens, from the voices crying 'shame.' 

1 must not scorn myself: he loves me still. 
Let no one dream but that he loves me still. 
So let me, if you do not shudder at me. 
Nor shun to call me sister, dwell with you ; 
Wear black and white, and be a nun like you. 
Fast with your fasts, not feasting with your feasts ; 
Grieve with your griefs, not grieving at your joys, 
But not rejoicing ; mingle with your rites ; 

Pray and be pray'd for ; lie before your shrines ; 

Do each low office of your holy house ; 

Walk your dim cloister, and distribute dole 

To poor sick people, richer in His eyes 

Who ransom'd us, and haler too than I ; 

And treat their loathsome hurts and heal mine own ; 

And so wear out in almsdeed and in prayer 



GUINEVERE. 339 

The sombre close of that vokiptuous day, 
Which wrought the ruin of my lord the King." 

She said : they took her to themselves ; and she 
Still hoping, fearing "is it yet too late?" 
Dwelt with them, till in time their Abbess died. 
Then she, for her good deeds and her pure life, 
And for the power of ministration in her, 
And likewise for the high rank she had borne, 
Was chosen Abbess, there, an Abbess, lived 
For three brief years, and there, an Abbess, past 
To where beyond these voices there is peace. 



End of " The Round Tabled 



340 THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 



THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 

That story which the bold Sir Bedivere, 
First made and latest left of all the knights, 
Told, when the man was no more than a voice 
In the white winter of his age, to those 
With whom he dwelt, new faces, other minds. 

For on their march to westward, Bedivere, 
Who slowly paced among the slumbering host, 
Heard in his tent the moanings of the King : 

" I found Him in the shining of the stars, 
I mark'd Him in the flowering of His fields. 
But in His ways with, men I find Him not. 
I waged His wars, and now I pass and die. 
O me ! for why is all around us here 
As if some lesser god had made the world, 
But had not force to shape it as he would, 
Till the High God behold it from beyond, ' 
And enter it, and make it beautiful? 
Or else as if the world were wholly fair. 
But that these eyes of men are dense and dim, 
And have not power to see it as it is : 
Perchance, because we see not to the close ; — 
For I, being simple, thought to work His will, 



THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 341 

And have but stricken with the sword in vain ; 
And all whereon I lean'd in wife and friend 
Is traitor to my peace, and all my realm 
Reels back into the beast, and is no more. 
My God, thou hast forgotten me in my death : 
Nay — God my Christ — I pass but shall not die." 

Then, ere that last weird battle in the west, 
There came on Arthur sleeping, Gawain kiird 
In Lancelot's war, the ghost of Gawain blown 
Along a wandering wind, and past his ear 
Went shrilling, " Hollow, hollow all delight! 
Hail, King! to-morrow thou shalt pass away. 
Farewell ! there is an isle of rest for thee. \/ 
And I am blown along a wandering wind, 
And hollow, hollow, hollow all delight." 
And fainter onward, like wild birds that change 
Their season in the night and wail their way 
From cloud to cloud, down the long wind the dream 
Shrill'd ; but in going mingled with dim cries 
Far in the moonlit haze among the hills. 
As of some lonely city sack'd by night, 
When all is lost, and wife and child with wail 
Pass to new lords ; and Arthur woke and calPd, 
"Who spake? A dream. O light upon the wind, 
Thine, Gawain, was the voice — are these dim cries 
Thine? or doth all that haunts the waste and wild 
Mourn, knowing it will go along with me? " 

This heard the bold Sir Bedivere and spake : 
" O me, my King, let pass whatever will, 



342 THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 

Elves, and the harmless glamour of the field ; 

But in their stead thy name and glory cling 

To all high places like a golden cloud 

For ever : but as yet thou shalt not pass. 

Light was Gavvain in life, and light in death 

Is Gawain, for the ghost is as the man ; 

And care not thou for dreams from him, but rise ■ — 

I hear the steps of Modred in the west, 

And with him many of thy people, and knights 

Once thine, whom thou hast loved, but grosser grown 

Than heathen, spitting at their vows and thee. 

Right well in heart they know thee for the King. 

Arise, go forth and conquer as of old." 

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere : 
" Far other is this battle in the west 
Whereto we move, than when we strove in youth, 
And brake the petty kings, and fought with Rome, 
Or thrust the heathen from the Roman wall, , 

And shook him thro' the north. Ill doom is mine 
To war against my people and my knights. 
The king who fights his people fights himself. 
And they my knights, who loved me once, the stroke 
That strikes them dead is as my death to me. 
Yet let us hence, and find or feel a way 
Thro' this blind haze, which ever since I saw 
One lying in the dust at Almesbury, 
Hath folded in the passes of the world." 

Then rose the King and moved his host by night, 
And ever push'd Sir Modred, league by league, 



THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 343 

Back to the sunset bound of Lyonnesse — 

A land of old upheaven from the abyss 

By fire, to sink into the abyss again ; 

Where fragments of forgotten peoples dwelt, 

And the long mountains ended in a coast 

Of ever-shifting sand, and far away 

The phantom circle of a moaning sea. 

There the pursuer could pursue no more, 

And he that fled no furthur fly the King ; 

And there, that day when the great light of heaven 

Burn'd at his lowest in the rolling year. 

On the waste sand by the waste sea they closed. 

Nor ever yet had Arthur fought a fight 

Like this last, dim, weird batde of the west. 

A deathwhite mist slept over sand and sea : 

Whereof the chill, to him who breathed it, drew 

Down with his blood, till all his heart was cold 

With formless fear ; and ev'n on Arthur fell 

Confusion, since he saw not whom he fought. 

For friend and foe were shadows in the mist. 

And friend slew friend not knowing whom he slew ; 

And some had visions out of golden youth, x"^ 

And some beheld the faces of old ghosts 

Look in upon the battle ; and in the mist 

Was many a noble deed, many a base. 

And chance and craft and strength in single fights, 

And ever and antfn with host to host 

Shocks, and the splintering spear, the hard mail 

hewn. 
Shield-breakings, and the clash of brands, the crash 
Of battleaxes on shattered helms, and shrieks 



344 THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 

After the Christ, of those who falHng down 
Look'd up for heaven, and only saw the mist ; 
And shouts of heathen and the traitor knights, 
Oaths, insult, filth, and monstrous blasphemies, 
Sweat, writhlngs, anguish, labouring of the lungs 
In that close mist, and cryings for the light. 
Moans of the dying, and voices of the dead. 



Last, as by some one deathbed after wail 
Of suffering, silence follows, or thro' death 
Or deathlike swoon, thus over all that shore, 
Save for some whisper of the seething seas, 
A dead hush fell ; but when the dolorous day 
Grew drearier toward twilight falling, came 
A bitter wind, clear from the North, and blew 
The mist aside, and with that wind the tide 
Rose, and the pale King glanced across the field 
Of battle : but no man was moving there ; 
Nor any cry of Christian heard thereon. 
Nor yet of heathen ; only the wan wave 
Brake in among dead faces, to and fro 
Swaying the helpless hands, and up and down 
Tumbling the hollow helmets of the fallen, 
And shiver'd brands that once had fought with Rome, 
And rolling far along the gloomy shores 
The voice of days of old and days to be. 

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere, 
And whiter than the mist that all day long 
Had held the field of battle was the King : 



THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 315 

"Hearest thou this great voice that shakes the 
world, 
And wastes the narrow realm whereon we move, 
And beats upon the faces of the dead. 
My dead, as tho' they had not died for me? — 
O Bedivere, for on my heart hath fall'n 
Confusion, till I know not what I am, 
Nor whence I am, nor whether I be King. 
Behold, I seem but King among the dead." 

Then spake the bold Sir Bedivere : " My King, 
King everywhere ! and so the dead have kings, 
There also will I worship thee as King. 
Yet still thy life is whole, and still I live 
Who love thee ; but who hates thee, he that brought 
The heathen back among us, yonder stands, 
Modred, unharm'd, the traitor of thine house." 

Then spake the King : '' My house hath been my 
doom. 
But call not thou this traitor of my house 
Who hath but dwelt beneath one roof with me. 
My house are rather they who sware my vows, 
Yea, even while they brake them, own'd me King. 
And well for thee, saying in my dark hour, 
When all the purport of my throne hath faiPd, 
That quick or dead thou boldest me for King. 
King am I, whatsoever be their cry; 
And one last act of kinghood shalt thou see 
Yet, ere I pass." And uttering this the King . 
Made at the man : then Modred smote his liege ^ 



3^6 THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 

Hard on that helm which many a heathen sword 
Had beaten thin ; while Arthur at one blow, 
Striking the last stroke with Excalibur, 
Slew him, and all but slain himself, he fell. 

So all day long the noise of battle roll'd 
Among the mountains by the winter sea ; 
Until King Arthur^s Table, man by man, 
Had falFn in Lyonnesse about their lord, 
King Arthur. Then, because his wound was deep, 
The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him. 
And bore him to a chapel nigh the field, 
A broken chancel with a broken cross, 
That stood on a dark strait of barren land : 
On one side lay the Ocean, and on one 
Lay a great water, and the moon was full. 

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere : 
' ' The sequel of to-day unsolders all 
The goodliest fellowship of famous knights 
Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep 
They sleep — the men I loved. I think that we 
Shall never more, at any future time, 
Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds, 
Walking about the gardens and the halls 
Of Camelot, as in the days that were. 
I perish by this people which I made, — 
Tho' Merlin sware that I should come again 
To rule once more ; but, let what will be, be, 
I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm 
That without help I cannot last till morn. 



THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 3^7 

Thou therefore take my brand Excahbur, 
Which was my pride : for thou rememberest how 
In those old days, one summer noon, an arm 
Rose up from out the bosom of the lake, 
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, 
Holding the sword — and how I row'd across 
And took it, and have worn it, like a king ; 
And, wheresoever I am sung or told 
In aftertime, this also shall be known: 
But now delay not : take Excalibur, 
And fling him far into the middle mere : 
Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me word." 

To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere : 
" It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus, 
Aidless, alone, and smitten thro' the helm — 
A little thing may harm a wounded man ; 
Yet I thy hest will all perform at full. 
Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word." 

So saying, from the ruin'd shrine he stept, 
And in the moon athwart the place of tombs, 
Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men, 
Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang 
Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping down 
By zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock, 
Came on the shining levels of the lake. 

There drew he forth the brand Excalibur, 
And o'er him, drawing it, the winter moon, 
Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth 



348 THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 

And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt : 
For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks, 
Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth-work 
Of subtlest jewellery. He gazed so long 
That both his eyes were dazzled as he stood, 
This way and that dividing the swift mind. 
In act to throw : but at the last it seem^'d 
Better to leave Excalibur conceaPd 
There in the many-knotted waterflags, 
That whistled stiff and dry about the marge. 
So strode he back slow to the wounded King. 

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere : 
" Hast thou performed my mission which I gave ? 
What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?" 

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 
" I heard the ripple washing in the reeds, 
And the wild water lapping on the crag." 

To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale : 
" Thou hast betray'd thy nature and thy name, 
Not rendering true answer, as beseem'd 
Thy fealty, nor like a noble knight : 
For surer sign had followM, either hand, 
Or voice, or else a motion of the mere. 
This is a shameful thing for men to lie. 
Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again. 
As thou art lief and dear, and do the thing 
I bad thee, watch, and lightly bring me word." 



THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 349 

Then went Sir Bedivere the second time 
Across the ridge, and paced beside the mere, 
Counting the dewy pebbles, fixM in thought ; 
But when he saw the wonder of the hilt, 
How curiously and strangely chased, he smote 
His palms together, and he cried aloud : 

" And if indeed I cast the brand away, 
Surely a precious thing, one worthy note, 
Should thus be lost for ever from the earth, 
Which might have pleased the eyes of many 

men. 
What good should follow this, if this were done? 
What harm, undone? Deep harm to disobey. 
Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. 
Were it well to obey then, if a king demand 
An act unprofitable, against himself ? 
The King is sick, and knows not what he does. 
What record, or what relic of my lord 
Should be to aftertime, but empty breath 
And rumours of a doubt? But were this kept, 
Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings, 
Some one might show it at a joust of arms. 
Saying, ' King Arthur's sword, Excalibur, 
Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake. 
Nine years she wrought it, sitting in the deeps 
Upon the hidden bases of the hills.'' 
So might some old man speak in the aftertime 
To all the people, winning reverence. 
But now much honour and much fame were 
lost." 



350 THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 

So spake he, clouded with his own conceit, 
And hid ExcaHbur the second time, 
And so strode back slow to the wounded King. 

Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily : 
" What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard? " 

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 
" I heard the water lapping on the crag. 
And the long ripple washing in the reeds." 

To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath : 
"Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue, 
Unknightly, traitor-hearted ! Woe is me ! 
Authority forgets a dying king, 
Laid widow'd of the power in his eye 
That bow'd the will. I see thee what thou art, 
For thou, the latest-left of all my knights, 
In whom should meet the offices of all, 
Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt ; 
Either from lust of gold, or like a girl 
Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. 
Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice. 
And the third time may prosper, get thee hence : 
But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur, 
I will arise and slay thee with my hands. 

Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran, 
And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged 
Among the bulrush beds, and clutch'd the sword, 
And strongly wheel'd and threw it. The great brand 
Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon. 



THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 351 

And flashing round and round, and whirPd in an 

arch, 
Shot Uke a streamer of the northern morn, 
Seen where the moving isles of winter shock 
By night, with noises of the Northern Sea. 
So flash'd and fell the brand Excalibur : 
But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm 
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. 
And caught him by the hilt, and brandished him 
Three times, and drew him under in the mere. 
And lightly went the other to the King. 

Then spoke King Arthur, drawing thicker breath ; 
"Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. 
Speak out : what is it thou hast heard, or seen? " 

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 
" Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems 
Should blind my purpose, for I never saw, 
Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die, 
Not tho' I live three lives of mortal men, 
So great a miracle as yonder hilt. 
Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him ; 
But when I look'd again, behold an arm, 
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. 
That caught him by the hilt, and brandished him 
Three times, and drew him under in the mere." 

And answer made King Arthur, breathing hard : 
" My end draws nigh ; 'tis time that I were gone. 
Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight, 



352 THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 

And bear me to the margin ; yet I fear 

My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die." 

So saying, from the pavement he half rose, 
Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm, 
And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes 
As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere 
Remorsefully regarded thro' his tears. 
And would have spoken, but he found not words ; 
Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee, 
O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands. 
And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs. 

But, as he walk'd. King Arthur panted hard. 
Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed 
When all the house is mute. So sigh'd the King, 
Muttering and murmuring at his ear, "Quick, quick ! 
I fear it is too late, and I shall die." 
But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge, 
Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walk'd, 
Larger than human on the frozen hills. 
He heard the deep behind him, and a cry 
Before. His own thought drove him like a goad. 
Dry clash'd his harness in the icy caves 
And barren chasms, and all to left and right 
The bare black cliff clang'd round him, as he 

based 
His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang 
Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels — 
And on a sudden, lo ! the level lake, 
And the long glories of the winter moon. 



THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 353 

Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge, 
Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern, 
Beneath them ; and descending they were ware 
That all the decks were dense with stately forms, 
Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream — by these 
Three Queens with crowns of gold : and from them 

rose 
A cry that shiver'd to the tingling stars, 
And, as it were one voice, an agony 
Of lamentation, like a wind that shrills 
All night in a waste land, where no one comes, 
Or hath come, since the making of the world. 

Then murmur'd Arthur, " Place me in the barge." 
So to the barge they came. There those three 

Queens 
Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept. 
But she, that rose the tallest of them all 
And fairest, laid his head upon her lap. 
And loosed the shattered casque, and chafed his 

hands, 
And caird him by his name, complaining loud. 
And dropping bitter tears against a brow 
Striped with dark blood : for all his face was white 
And colourless, and like the withered moon 
Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east ; 
And all his greaves and cuisses dash'd with drops 
Of onset ; and the light and lustrous curls — 
That made his forehead like a rising sun 
High from the dais-throne — were parch'd with 

dust; 



354 THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 

Or, dotted into points and hanging loose, 

Mix'd with the knightly growth that fringed his lips. 

So like a shatter'd column lay the King ; 

Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest, 

From spur to plume a star of tournament. 

Shot thro' the lists at Camelot, and charged 

Before the eyes of ladies and of kings. 

Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere : 
" Ah ! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go ? 
Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes? 
For now I see the true old times are dead, 
When every morning brought a noble chance, 
And every chance brought out a noble knight. 
Such times have been not since the light that led 
The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh. 
But now the whole Round Table is dissolved 
Which was an image of the mighty world. 
And I, the last, go forth companionless, 
And the days darken round me, and the years, 
Among new men, strange faces, other minds." 

_^And slowly answer'd Arthur from the barge : 
*' The old order changeth, yielding place to new, 
And God fulfils himself in many ways. 
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. 
Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me? 
1 have lived my life, and that which I have done 
May He within himself make pure ! but thou, 
If thou shouldst never see my face again. 
Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer 



THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 355 

Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy 

voice 
Rise like a fountain for me night and day. 
For what are men better than sheep or goats 
That nourish a blind life within the brain, 
If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer 
Both for themselves and those who call them 

friend ? 
For so the whole round earth is every way 
Bound by gold chains about the feet of Go d. / 
But now farewell. I am going a long way ~ ' 
With these thou seest — if indeed I go 
(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) — 
To the island-valley of Avilion ; 
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, 
Nor ever wind blows loudly ; but it lies 
Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns 
And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, 
Where I will heal me of my grievous wound." 

So said he, and the barge with oar and sail 
Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan 
That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, 
Rufii^s her pure cold plume, and takes the flood 
With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere 
Revolving many memories, till the hull 
Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn, 
And on the mere the wailing died away. 

But when that moan had past for evermore. 
The stillness of the dead world's winter dawn 



356 THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 

Amazed him, and he groan'd, "The King is 

gone." 
And therewithal came on him the weird rhyme, 
" From the great deep to the great deep he goes." 

Whereat he slowly turn'd and slowly clomb 
The last hard footstep of that iron crag ; 
Thence mark'd the black hull moving yet, and 

cried, 
" He passes to be King among the dead, 
And after healing of his grievous wound 
He comes again ; but — if he come no more — 
O me, be yon dark Queens in yon black boat, 
Who shriek'd and wail'd, the three whereat we 

gazed 
On that high day, when, clothed with living 

light, 
They stood before his throne in silence, friends 
Of Arthur, who should help him at his need?" 

Then from the dawn it seem'd there came, but 
faint 
As from beyond the limit of the world, 
Like the last echo born of a great cry, 
Sounds, as if some fair city were one voice 
Around a king returning from his wars. 

Thereat once more he moved about, and clomb 
Ev'n to the highest he could climb, and saw, 
Straining his eyes beneath an arch of hand. 
Or thought he saw, the speck that bare the King, 



THE PASSING OF ARTHUR. 357 

Down that long water opening on the deep 
Somewhere far off, pass on and on, and go 
From less to less and vanish into light. 
And the new sun rose bringing the new year. 



358 TO THE QUEEN. 



TO THE QUEEN. 

O LOYAL to the royal in thyself, 

And loyal to thy land, as this to thee 

Bear witness, that rememberable day, 

When, pale as yet, and fever-worn, the Prince 

Who scarce had pluck'd his flickering life again 

From halfway down the shadow of the grave. 

Past with thee thro' thy people and their love, 

And London roird one tide of joy thro' all 

Her trebled millions, and loud leagues of man 

And welcome ! witness, too, the silent cry, 

The prayer of many a race and creed, and clime — 

Thunderless lightnings striking under sea 

From sunset and sunrise of all thy realm, 

And that true North, whereof we lately heard 

A strain to shame us " keep you to yourselves ; 

So loyal is too costly ! friends — your love 

Is but a burthen : loose the bond, and go." 

Is this the tone of empire ? here the faith 

That made us rulers ? this, indeed, her voice 

And meaning, whom the roar of Hougoumont 

Left mightiest of all peoples under heaven? 

What shock has fool'd her since, that she should 

speak 
So feebly? wealthier — wealthier — hour by hour! 



TO THE QUEEN. 359 

The voice of Britain, or a sinking land, 
Some third-rate isle half-lost among her seas? 
There rang her voice, when the full city peal'd 
Thee and thy Prince ! The loyal to their crown 
Are loyal to their own far sons, who love 
Our ocean-empire with her boundless homes 
For ever-broadening England, and her throne 
In our vast Orient, and one isle, one isle. 
That knows not her own greatness : if she knows 

And dreads it we are falPn. But thou, my Queen, 

Not for itself, but thro' thy living love 
For one to whom I made it o'er his grave 
Sacred, accept this old imperfect tale. 
New-old, and shadowing Sense at war with Soul 
Rather than that gray king, whose name, a ghost, 
Streams like a cloud, man-shaped, from mountain 

peak, 
And cleaves to cairn and cromlech still ; or him 
Of Geoffrey's book, or him of Malleor's, one 
Touch'd by the adulterous finger of a time 
That hover'd between war and wantonness, 
And crownings and dethronements : take withal 
Thy poet's blessing, and his trust that Heaven 
Will blow the tempest in the distance back 
From thine and ours : for some are scared, who 

mark. 
Or wisely or unwisely, signs of storm. 
Waverings of every vane with every wind, 
And wordy trucklings to the transient hour, 
And fierce or careless looseners of the faith, 
And Softness "breeding scorn of simple life, 



360 TO THE QUEEN. 

Or Cowardice, the child of lust for gold, 
Or Labour, with a groan and not a voice, 
Or Art with poisonous honey stoPn from France, 
And that which knows, but careful for itself, 
And that which knows not, ruling that which knows 
To its own harm : the goal of this great world 
Lies beyond sight: yet — if our slowly-grown 
And crown'd Republic's crowning common-sense, 
That saved her many times, not fail — their fears 
Are morning shadows huger than the shapes 
That cast them, not those gloomier which forego 
The darkness of that battle in the West, 
Where all of high and holy dies away. 



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